Happy Anti-Father's Day

I usually mention your death anniversary when it comes around. I always say- I will not drink a Coors Light today. But last week I let it pass without mention. In fact, I’m going to try that every year. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I don’t want to memorialize it anymore.

But today, just as on your birthday, I will drink a Coors Light. Ok, I admit that today, for the first time, I couldn’t finish it. Dad, it’s just gross. I don’t know how you drank this stuff.

Today I played a gig on the pier. All day I heard echoes of “Happy Father’s Day!” I may have even said it to the crowd. But I didn’t like it. It hurts to say it. To hear it. I wonder if there will ever come a year when it won’t.

It’s fitting that I’m at the ocean today. It’s my favorite place. I walked to the farthest corner of the beach so I could eat my take-out in peace. So I could (try to) drink my Coors light unnoticed. So I could talk to you and cry where no one would see me.

I always look for heart-shaped rocks on the beach. Today I just wanted to sit. Yet, when I reached down into my cooler to grab that disgusting beer, there this little guy was...

Maybe from now on, I’ll toast with something else. Something not as gross as beer. Besides, it (and all the other booze) is what took you from us. You let it take you. It didn’t have to be this way. I love you, and hate you just a little, all at the same time. As each year passes, I continue to work on forgiving you for it. I’m not there yet, but I think I’m probably close. We shall see.

I still can’t listen to “Two Tickets to Paradise.” It’s what was playing the day you were going. I screamed into the hospital valet parking, threw the keys, and ran. The song played in my head as I willed the elevator to go faster, as my sister texted me… “hurry.”
My memory is so terrible nowadays. But of the very few things I remember, that’s the one I wish I could forget.

Eight years. Eight years and I still miss you so fucking much.

Happy Father’s Day.