Fall

Dear Dad,

You’ve been dead now for two and a half years. The missing is supposed to get easier, and yet, this fall your absence feels heavier than ever. Everything about the fall reminds me of you and Mattituck. And every time I think about all the falls we spent with you when G3 was little, I cry. I miss you. I miss the house in Mattituck—the escape from New Jersey and everything about life that makes me sad. I miss watching you interact with G3. Taking him pumpkin picking and apple picking and giving in to his every whim. I miss hearing your voice, and giving you a hug. I miss raking leaves for an entire weekend until blisters formed on my palms. I miss being in the house that always made me happy. Every time I close my eyes, I picture myself there and I want to go back. I want what was—the comfort and security and togetherness—and I can’t believe it’s all gone. 

It’s been two and a half years and there are moments I still sometimes catch myself thinking I will see you again. That it’s just a matter of time and you’ll call.

I started a job on Friday. It’s a miracle isn’t it, that someone finally hired me. I’m teaching ninth grade English—Reading, Writing, and a Freshman Survey class that I’m still not entirely sure what that entails. My first day was overwhelming, but I survived. Things are much different than they were the last time I taught high school English. Everything has moved online, and I’m completely lost with the technology. I’m hoping sometime next week, someone will be able to sit down with me to give me a tutorial. The content will not be difficult, once I get myself situated, but I’m struggling to pay attention to the content when I’m so anxious about Google Classroom. Everyone at the school was really friendly and helpful. I didn’t feel out of place. I felt like it was a school I could eventually be comfortable in. 

However, I feel sad about leaving G3 home alone. I have to leave for work an hour before he leaves for school. And I won’t be home any more when he gets home. I know he’s old enough to start being independent, but I still feel awful that I can’t be there for him any more—not in the same capacity as before. I’m also feeling an incredible amount of disappointment that despite all my effort, all my dedication, I failed to publish a book in all the years I spent at home writing. I feel like I wasted so much time, so much energy. And now I’m back to teaching, because teaching will pay the bills. Letting go of writing won’t be easy, but I guess I just wasn’t good enough. I have a history of that. Don’t I. Wanting something so badly, throwing myself into completely, and failing immensely. But you always did say, “Those who can’t do teach.” I’m not good enough to be a writer, therefore, I will teach writing.

Wednesday was Mom’s 75th Birthday—her third one without you. My brother flew up from Nashville to spend the week with her, and I went to Queens for the weekend. G3 couldn’t come because he was camping with the Boy Scouts. I think Mom missed him, but she was happy to have me and G2 there. He cooked dinner last night and then we took her out for lunch today. It was a quiet weekend, but Mom really appreciated and enjoyed the company. I know she misses you too. 

I miss you!

PS—Mom is recovering very well from her knee surgery. She can do the stairs fairly well and she can walk to church with a cane. And she can move around the house without the cane. I’m impressed by how well she is doing.