We were never close

by Just as I am

but we shared an inner life that was identical. No one knew me like he did and no one knew him like I did. He was just a kid when I was born and he was angry and bitter that me and then my sister took away his freedom. He stayed with my Mom for 52 years. They were one person not two. He loved only her and she only him. He was a terrible father but he tried. He died in August, 2011. Nine years ago he found me after ten years of no contact and it was then that we began the dance of reconciliation. We never talked about anything substantive. We walked. The woods, the ocean, the cliffs. We biked. We swam. We even went to church a couple of times. He could not speak beyond basic pleasantries but I gobbled down every syllable. He rarely swore, rarely drank and rarely looked directly into my eyes. Losing him means that part of me and a large part of my history (known and unknown)is gone. I miss him every day. I miss the familiarity of him. I miss his sheer being here. It doesn't compute that he is gone. The story was never told. I believed if I waited long enough, he would tell me. I wish it would stop hurting.

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