Let It Be

(originally written July 25th, 2008)

And all the roads we have to walk are winding. And all the lights that lead us there are blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how.

There are those monumental moments in life where you remember exactly where you were when they occurred. For some, it's the Kennedy assassination or the Challenger explosion. For most of us it is the horrific morning of 9/11 and the subsequent aftershocks. Then there are those personal moments which burn themselves into your soul and leave that permanent scar as a reminder.
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I remember when I first found out the news. I froze and was flooded immediately with 15 years of repressed memories and emotions. Do I stand fast and let things just pass or do I let the bygones pass and face it. Would I be doing because of forgiveness or because of the situation?

I remember sitting as motionless as the time that passed without notice. The time that had passed so fast over those years was now crawling towards me.

I remember the internal conflict once the realization set in. The resentment of the last 15 versus the happiness of the first 12.

I remember replaying each in my head, an emotional highlight reel, hoping that the memories would decide the right thing for me to do. I was too scared, confused and hurt to do it myself so I turned the reins over to the past.

I recalled my first clear memory. My tiny knees pressed against the wooden walkway as curious hands reached for the bubbles. Strong hands grasping and saving me.

I remember thinking that the coolest thing in the world was a truck with a bed in the back where I could lay down and still watch the road get swallowed up in front of me. I remember falling asleep in that bed and waking up in what seemed like another part of the world.

I remember Memphis and the first taste of barbecue. I remember Dallas and the chill of a meat locker. I remember Houston and having to duck to get inside of an old submarine.

I remember the special trip, 3 hours out of the way, to go to a high school championship game.

I remember my first taste of truck stop food which fostered the appreciation for small roadside diners that exists to this day.

I remember the sound. The sadness of it fading away and the excitement of its crescendo.

I remember killing the spiders and you killing the snakes so we could work together under the house.

I remember speechless hours in front of the television watching grown men in tights roll around with each other, along with the smile and bellowing laugh that it brought out.

I remember the subsequent discussion regarding its legitimacy and your emphatic defense of its realism. I remember this was the point that we both realized that I was smarter than you. You were more proud than resentful.

I remember Robert the Rose Horse and the emphatic sneezes to bring him to life.

I remember your proud claims of introducing me as "the genius"

I remember the colors. The yellow shed. The coolest red pickup. The big blue semi. The faded brown box full of my puberty inspired fantasies.

I remember the sounds. Conway Twitty, Hank Williams (Jr and Sr), Don Williams, Freddy Fender, Kenny Rogers. And your theme song: Convoy.

I remember the endless smile. Seeing Jerry Reed plow over the motorcycles and wanting to be the Bandit to your Snowman.

I remember the smell. Exhaust, grease and oil, country fried steak.

Sensory overload fades into darkness and the other side peers out.

I remember the beating, never being able to play with Hot Wheels tracks again.

I remember the yelling. Not enough pillows to muffle your voice and her tears.

I remember the crying. I pretended not to and she pretended that we didn't hear or know.

I remember the absence. Days became weeks and months. Until the day when I learned you weren't coming back. Why?? My 12-year old "genius" brain couldn't wrap around it.

I remember the exhaustion and sadness. It showed in her eyes every day and I heard it every night. It grew deeper and darker as she tried to hide it while using her last ounces of energy to make sure we were taken care of.

I remember the emptiness. Growing up with that one piece always missing. Like the chair missing a leg. It would stand but never completely and never the same.

But then the light peeks through

I remember the strength and independence fostered by self-reliance.

I remember that appreciation of working for something and savoring the fruits of labor.

I remember feeling my backbone grow stronger with each day you were gone.

I remember recasting your role and moving forward. Stronger and better but not forgetful.

I remember you rising again, the unexpected phone call.

I remember the reconciliation, the offers of repentance for the abandonment.

I remember the visits to California, the cows, the handy dishwashing tool that you showed me.

I remember Dodger baseball games replacing wrestling as the quiet bonding ceremony.

I remember introducing you to the love of my life and your smiling, welcoming hospitality.

I remember the constructive criticism of my lane changing driving habits.

I remember the parental reconciliation at the "happiest place on earth"

Then I remember the dusk returning...

I remember the softly pleading words "I wonder who will take care of me when I cannot anymore". I realized these were not words of self-concern but attempts to elicit guilt using blood relation as bargaining chip.

Then I remember the nail that drove the permanent wedge. A car. The sale of a car, changing jobs and locations as I had rearranged plans and finally the attempted justification and my last words to you.

'Forget it Dad, I'll do it myself"

Those words echoed in my head as I used them and believed them.

Since then there are things I have learned or did not notice and things that I remembered.

I remember them all, the good and the bad. I always loved you but didn't always like you and will never forget you.

Sorry that I never got the chance to say any words or close things up between us. I don't know if the words would have been good or bad. I wrestled with what to say, what I felt and how to express it correctly. I wrestled with it so long that time ran out. I realized that it wouldn't have mattered what I said to you, just that I said something, anything before I never got the chance to again. As it stands now, my last words to you and my last feelings of you while you were still here were those of anger and resentment. Right or wrong, justified or not doesn't really seem to matter now. My silence and lost opportunity is a weight of regret that I carry for the rest of my life. I'm sorry dad. Not necessarily for the way I felt or the actions I took but more for the fact that I closed the door permanently and by the time I felt I was ready to open it again, the door was gone.

Dad, I am sorry that I hesitated and was too scared and indecisive to face you for the final time. I cannot say that I am sorry for the distance I created because I lost you before I could decide the words I wanted to say. I should have been stronger. I now realize that the words I would've said were not as important as the one word I didn't say and that you deserved. Goodbye.

And so it goes, and so it goes. And the book says, 'We may be through with the past, but it ain't through with us

Nirom Jerauld "Bill" Salisbury - (September 21, 1933 - July 25, 2007)