As children we cling to our parental for love and guidance. For most children it is a mother or father. For me it was my Papa. He was my parental grandfather. At the age of 60 he took me on to raise though I never as a child or teenager recognized his sacrifice. He gave up his retirement for an ungrateful brat, who wasn’t satisfied because he was not my technical father. When I was scared because of the nightmares that plagued me, he was the one I called out for. When I broke my arm at 4, he’s the one that sat with me in the ER all night. When I tried to lose a finger because of stupidity in second grade he was the one that sat with me through countless doctor visits. Never once did he complain for being saddled with me though I gave him every reason to. For many years I knew that I would always be loved by him no matter what I did or how many times I must have failed him. I also knew that as long as he was alive nothing bad could happen to me, because he’d always be there. I no longer hold that comfort. He’s been gone nearly a decade, but I still miss him as if he passed yesterday. Today is the anniversary of his birth, and is a reminder of the grief I still feel because he’s no longer in this world. I would give up everything for just one more day to be Papa’s little girl, to sit and watch the Braves play, and to tell him how sorry I am for failing him. I became everything he never wanted for me. I became a single mom of three, though I know he would have loved them all dearly because they came from me. He never got to see my daughter’s face in this world, but I’d like to think he sees her from where he is sitting now. He was a devout Christian and his faith in his God never faltered, but Christianity was something I could never embrace. In my eyes there were too many loopholes. I became openly Pagan. I am technically heathen and proud. I know my faith in my gods would be a major source of disgappointment for him. What can I do now knowing that I am not what he’d want for me?
