Date: May 18, 1997
Age: 19
Egypt is very interesting, but very hot--over 100 degrees yesterday. Rode around the pyramids on a camel, saw the sphinx and lots of graves. Got you some stuff.
When my brothers and I were in Miami in March, I noticed on H's desk a postcard leaning against a lamp. It was a shot of the Duomo in Florence. I picked it up and turned it over (yes, I was being nosy). It was sent from my dad to her, while they were on vacation together in Italy in 2007. It read very much like the postcards he has sent me over the years--in fact, he sent me postcards from the same trip, written on the same date. Although H's postcard was written to her, it was addressed to a hybrid of her and my father's names.
I showed it to my brothers, who said it was like a journal of their trip. Yes, but I reminded them that I've been getting these kinds of postcards for 30 years--something I thought was unique to my relationship with my father, since my brothers do not have such a collection of postcards. They've gotten a handful throughout the years, but nothing to the extent of what I have.
I was a little disappointed to find that he was sharing this postcard relationship with someone else--yes, the love of his life, I get that. I don't know how many others there are he's written to H. When did he start? When he first met her, before he left my mother for her? During those years when he was struggling to break away from the life he no longer wanted, was he reaching out to her through postcards as he continued to send them to me as well?
These postcards mean something entirely different to my dad than they do to me--but I don't know what that meaning is. And now I feel like my collection isn't as special, because it's not the only one. This sense of loss isn't enough to make me give up writing about them or enjoying them, but maybe it's time I just take them at face value--documentation of trips taken.
I showed it to my brothers, who said it was like a journal of their trip. Yes, but I reminded them that I've been getting these kinds of postcards for 30 years--something I thought was unique to my relationship with my father, since my brothers do not have such a collection of postcards. They've gotten a handful throughout the years, but nothing to the extent of what I have.
I was a little disappointed to find that he was sharing this postcard relationship with someone else--yes, the love of his life, I get that. I don't know how many others there are he's written to H. When did he start? When he first met her, before he left my mother for her? During those years when he was struggling to break away from the life he no longer wanted, was he reaching out to her through postcards as he continued to send them to me as well?
These postcards mean something entirely different to my dad than they do to me--but I don't know what that meaning is. And now I feel like my collection isn't as special, because it's not the only one. This sense of loss isn't enough to make me give up writing about them or enjoying them, but maybe it's time I just take them at face value--documentation of trips taken.
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2 comments:
I've lurked your blog a bit. Interesting stuff. This post I find particularly compelling. But I feel like I need to read from the beginning to better understand your relationship with your father.
Thanks for reading, Cashew. It's been nearly a year since I started the blog, and I think I'm finally finding a 'voice' for it--maybe that's simply because the circumstances happening in the present make it so.
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