Wait

I have something else I want to say. I have been thinking about this a lot.

A huge reason I miss my dad so much. I didn't really know him.

Greg and I recently watched the season finale of The Big C (the show about a woman diagnosed with cancer, we like torture, clearly). Afterwards, he began saying how he missed talking to his mom, they would call each other 4-5 times a week and he would just tell her stuff that was going on or whatever. So this makes me cry because I didn't call my dad 4-5 times a week. I barely knew my dad. I know he was very particular about cleanliness (we called him Mr. Clean), he spent his early years in the Navy, he was extremely quiet, and a former alcoholic. I'm sure there's other stuff. But on an intimate level, I just didn't really know anything about my dad. I know he had stories too. They were there, but he just didn't share them with everyone or very often.

I remember when I was in high school, my Spanish club was planning a biking trip to Mexico. During one of the final meetings, my dad came to talk to my teacher, sign papers, whatever. My Spanish teacher and him just started talking and though I can't recall the conversation completely, my dad went on about some places he had been while in the Navy, mostly about South American countries. I distinctly remember thinking that I wished my dad would tell me stories about the traveling he had done. And that's that. Nothing ever came of that. I just wished. I didn't ask him. He didn't come to tell me. Stupid wishes.

This is the stuff I think about these days. Stuff I missed out on with my dad. Maybe in the future I'll think of other things, good things. But right now, I'm not. I hope it doesn't get worse.