A little backstory: my mom and dad divorced when I was quite young. When my mom remarried and moved to NY I saw my dad several times a year. I did not know him very well. I've pieced together some glimpses of him from the time that I spent with him (which was always fun) and from what others have told me.
It's so weird to see this grave and to know this is my father and to feel somewhat detached. I didn't even know he was a Sergeant in the Air Force. I knew he was in the A.F. but had little knowledge of anything else. I wonder a lot about him. I wonder which parts of me I got from him. I don't particularly look like him, though my brother does. He was always pretty quiet, so I know I didn't inherit that either. I have so little to go on, so I just assume I'm my mother's child. I think I'm ok with that.
I do have a lot of fond memories. I inherited my first car from him. A 1987 Chevy Cavalier. Tons of great memories of helping him wash and wax the car, playing air guitar and drums to the oldies with my brother in the backseat, minigolfing, him laughing at me minigolfing because I'd get pissed when I lost, him watching my brother and I play hockey in the driveway, taking us to hockey and baseball games. Some very good times. When I think of these times, I feel as though he was a very good man, if even he had some very rough patches.
I decide to focus on these precious few memories even though I know some hard things about my dad. I'm writing it down so the precious few don't escape me later on. I know that I loved him in a way that a child has that sort of blind love and loyalty for her parents.
I realize this post is a little disjointed and doesn't flow well. I'm not going to edit it. These are just the way the thoughts flowed. It's a good start to sorting through all this stuff. I have some work to do, yet, but a decent start for sure.