The Poet

Through an ancient letter

I was introduced to a figure; a man.

And through reading I was better

Able to know and understand

This person, this poet.

I viewed his heart, his passions,

And, don’t ya know it,

The ways in which he was glad.

Now having been introduced to this poet in a fashion

I might finally be able to call him “dad.”

-The Poet of Windy Blue

I wrote this poem on December 29th, 2023, after receiving a letter from my aunt that contained a few pictures, my dad’s university commencement and a letter he wrote to my grandmother on Mother’s Day while he was in rehab. In his letter he describes his journey and progress, that he met a beautiful young woman (my mother), and a poem dedicated to my grandmother. 

I never knew my dad. My parents divorced when I was still an infant, and my mom won full custody. Then, he tragically passed away when I was 8 years old. I never knew him, and for most of my life, the only knowledge of him I had were a few bits of information from old family videos and what my aunts, uncles, and Mom told me about him. For most of my life my vision of him was a mixed bag at best. 

Later, my image of him got even uglier after my mom committed suicide, and I was handling her estate and I had to sort through all of her old legal documents including all of the custody battle proceedings and court orders. Those documents do not paint my dad in a good light. In fact, they highlight and amplify his flaws and worst sides of his identity. These are really hard truths to confront and to read about one’s parents. My image of him deteriorated further.

Growing up as a boy without a father was difficult and painful. Although I had many mentors and male role models throughout each of my stages of life, they could not quite fill the void. 

So, that brings us to this past December when I received this letter. I saw a side of my dad that was warm, loving, and vulnerable. I saw him as a son. I saw that he was a man with a huge heart that was lost and struggling to find his way. I saw a man that had a love for poetry and who was aspiring to publish his own (which coincidentally corresponds with my own passions and goals). I saw the young man that had begun to fall in love with my mom. I finally saw my dad in his full humanity. Both good and bad. The duality of existence embodied. A man that was trying to overcome his demons. I saw a dreamer.

Ultimately, I saw myself.

This is both a little scary, but also a huge comfort. Now, after nearly 29 years, I finally feel a deeper sense of connection with him and with his side of the family. Finally.