L.P. Hartley and Laphroaig

Today, my father would have turned 64. It’s only a couple months until the 10th anniversary of his death. We develop rituals around death and ways to deal with space people have left in our lives. For me, that means having a glass of whiskey for my dad and trying to be objective about the past. My father’s death happened at a very formative time in my life and it is tempting to look at is as the defining moment of my young adult life, but it’s not that simple. It’s true that my father’s death did change me in a variety of ways both good and bad. I can’t know the person I would have become had my father not taken his life when I was 21. I would undoubtedly be a very different Katherine than the Katherine I am now and it is tempting to look at that other Katherine, the Katherine untouched by that loss as the good version of me. The uncomplicated, happy, and trusting version of myself, but that’s a trick.

I would be different not necessarily better. It’s a subtle difference, but an important one. Life would have changed me in other ways. I am not the person I will always be. I don’t think I will always be anything. I cannot know the future and the past is divorced from reality. The further something gets from our present the more distorted it becomes. We soften things that happen in the past, round it, and attempt to make it easier to live with. That’s natural. We cannot be open emotional wounds. That’s not good for us or anyone in our lives. We need to learn how deal with our traumas and trials in healthy and productive ways. That looks different for everyone. It takes time and there will be many missteps along the way. It’s okay. Life is not linear. We’ve been trained to think that way, but life’s paths are radiant.

When my father died my college forced me to go to therapy and I resented it at the time. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I didn’t want to process my feelings. I just wanted to be. I wanted to be unbothered. The therapist I saw told me this, “One day, this will just be part of your story.” And it’s true. Nearly a decade on, my father’s death and the turbulent couple years afterward are just part of my story. Part of me. They aren’t who I am. While I definitely wasn’t my best self during those times and made some very bad choices, I regret few of the things I did during that time in my life. I had to do them so I could be the person I am now and I mostly like the person I am. It’s trite, but true. I feel like a failure a good 45% of the time, but I’m okay with me. I’m my own Leaves of Grass. A grand work that is neither finished nor unfinished but is complete. Occasionally flawed, but not without merit.

So, tonight I’ll walk to the bar at the end of my block, have a nice whiskey, enjoy the early Spring night, and try to find a little peace.