Being Alone in this World

I am a pack animal. I need a pack.

I am a tribesman. I need a tribe.

I'm beginning to feel alone in this world.

I am losing my pack, my tribe. I'm 53 and my parents are gone. I'm a father of grown children, beginning to spread their wings and fly.

Last year, I moved to Boulder, unfamiliar territory and terrain, to be near my children. I knew that once I departed on that train out of Indianapolis station, I'd never see my father again. I just knew.

The image of him, standing there, misty eyed, maybe feeling a bit like I am right now, in the middle of the Amtrak/Greyhound lobby, is emblazoned on my mindscreen. It was a bittersweet moment to walk up those stairs while he stood still, looking up, watching me go.

The train ride, my first long distance trek, was fascinating. Arriving in Colorado at daybreak, I made my way up to the observation car and sat in a chair, my head on a swivel. To my left, I could see the rays of the sun breaking the horizon, a new dawn. To my right, I could see the purple silhouette of the Rockies. As those behemoths began reflecting the orange glow of the sun, I could see their snowy peaks reaching elevations of more than 14k feet! It was a glorious site and the beginning of a new adventure.

But despite that majestic and wonderful start, it was still, by far, the most difficult transition I've made in life, second only to the transition from full-time dad to limited time dad in 2012.

And there's the rub...again in August 2020, when I said goodbye to my daughters and drove away in a rented truck, the trauma of 2012 was relived. They moved to Boulder that month. I was already at my dad's house spending the last three months I'd ever get with him.

So I arrive in Boulder just before Thanksgiving last year and my daughters are settled into a suburban home with their mom. I didn't see them until the day after Christmas...for 3 hours. :(

Everything seemed to have changed nearly overnight.

My daughters, who had earlier that year, urged me that they still needed me as a presence in their life, really didn't need me present. That became clear over the ensuing months, in the harshest part of winter. I was hating life, hating Boulder and pining for my beach in Southwest Florida.

I didn't leave. I stuck with my commitment, but floundered a bit in my resolve. I wondered why in the hell I was out in that Rocky Mountain climate. It was a difficult transition, to put it mildly. What was my purpose?

I thought I'd found it in a female companion, but we've really not even made it out of the gate.

Then, I get the call from home that Dad is heading to the ER with pneumonia-like symptoms. COVID, they determined at the hospital that day and sent him home. His home quarantine lasted three days. His stay at the hospital five. So in the span of a week, my dad went from bad to worse. Monday he was gone.

I've been without parents for three days, beginning my fourth. I'm slowly coming to terms with it, but I hate it.

My parents were YOUNG, goddammit! We're only 19 years apart in age. I grew up with them!

I should have had them around into my 60's. My daughters deserved to have their Grammy and Papaw a little while longer...present at important events through their young adulthood--graduations, celebrations of relationship, etc.

While we are grateful for the time and events we did share with them, it still stings, though. And quite honestly, I'm pissed. I feel like I was sold short.

My tribe is disappearing. The elders are gone.

Maybe it's time to assume my role, but I wasn't ready.

I'm still struggling to find my new purpose. My pack is dwindling.

I needed to vent with this post...there is surely more to come, stuff about my dad's life and influence. If you follow me on Facebook, you'll see that he influenced me artistically and musically. I'll have more stories and music to share, for sure, but right now I guess I'll sit with this anger, my grief. Thank you for listening to my broken heart, sad song.