23 and an Angel to Them

It's a dreary day and I have nothing on my calendar so I'm listening to the album The Great Divide by Noah Kahan (for the 5th time since it released just 4 days ago). 

Logan told me about Noah years ago because he said he thought I'd like him. You used to do that too. You always found these up-and-coming artists and shared the saddest unrequited love song with me - telling me you thought I'd like them...

Anyway, there's a song on the album called 23 and the lyrics go something like, "If I never see you again then you could be anything I want. Twenty-three, clean, in the engine heat, teaching me how the thing runs."

Of course it made me think of you. Of you and Eve specifically. Because she idolized you and every time you had something to work on, she'd be so excited to "help" you. And back then you were clean. 

You may have been a shit husband, but you were a good dad.

It actually made me angry. It's a weird thing - greif. Sometimes it's sadness but sometimes it's anger. And that's where I am today. 

I'm pissed that you missed out on so much of the hard shit that I had to deal with on my own. 

And you're just gone. And no matter what hard shit I had to with, they will thought of you - not the times you weren't there, but the good times when you laughed and played and shared things with them. Whereas I had to be the bad guy, the parent who fought with them and punished them. So many times. 

I'm mad that Logan hasn't fully dealt with all of his stuff with you. That he's still trying to find his way through life and you're not here to talk to him about it. I'm good with the girls. I can tell them like it is. They are like me. But he - He is like you and you would know what to say. I don't. 

And I'm pissed at you for leaving me to deal with all of it by myself. Because when I sit and think about it, I'm doing a shit job at it. I'm busy, unavailable, and I don't say the things I should. 

They needed you.

I needed you. 

And you just stay gone. 

A memory for them. And a failure for me. 

I told someone once, "you can't compete with a dead man." And it's true. There's no point in trying to prove how much I love the kids and how I've always been there for them. Because they don't even think about me. But damn, they think about you all the time. The clean and sober you that drove them home in the Jeep with the top off and the music on. The guy who told jokes and made them smile, who took their pictures and told them how proud you were. 

Well I did that stuff too. But I did so much more. And when you were alive, I was doing it alone. And now you're dead and I'm doing it alone, but you're an angel to them. 

They've forgotten how you were never there. You get to be the person they wanted you to be. And I get to watch them mourn you and love you - even though you never did enough.

...But I also get to live. I get to watch them grow up and become adults and start families of their own. 

I get to hold their hands when they are going through their hard stuff. I get to hug them when they celebrate. I get to hold both of our grandbabies and teach them silly songs. 

I get to.

And I guess that makes me mad too. Because they want to share it with you and you're not here for that either. 

You just stay gone. 

A memory and a wish - but always an angel. Their angel. The best version of you.