Yesterday, on the anniversary of Dad’s passing, I found it difficult to recall the happy times we shared, let alone lament his absence in public. Today, the weight of my shortcomings and the feeling of never being good enough overwhelm me. I replay memories with Dad in my mind, searching for moments of connection between us, but they slip through my fingers like water. The ache in my chest intensifies, a reminder of all the things we left unsaid.

For so long, to keep my sanity, I had to keep my tangled feelings for my dad and step-dad under wraps.

No matter what I did to assure him he was the number one man in my heart, Dad acted like he was being replaced. As an adult, I understand how tough it must have been for him to be the secondary custodial parent. (I’ll save most of that talk for the memoir, as I can’t even begin to explain all the complex emotions and happenings that went on in my childhood.)

I went to great lengths to make Dad feel loved and valued on Father’s Day. This meant refraining from showing any affection to my step-dad online, or anywhere Dad could see it, especially on that day.

I scroll through social media, seeing friends celebrating their fathers, sharing heartfelt messages of love and gratitude. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what I longed for, but could never fully experience.

I don’t recall Mom posting this in 2014, but when it popped up on my Memories, I cringed.

Not because she said anything untrue, but because she felt the need to post this on our behalf. And she did have to post it for us, because we couldn’t have posted something like this without really upsetting Dad or hurting his feelings.

I can only imagine my sheer panic at being tagged in this post, knowing that Dad would eventually see it.

Knowing that this wonderful man, my step-dad, was denied the recognition he so rightfully deserves for so long breaks my heart. (Not that he would ever complain about it.)

Whenever it comes to a holiday, especially Christmas, something always seemed to come up. I used to dread that holiday almost as much as Father’s Day. I can’t even recall the last positive Christmas experience I had with Dad, or the last good Father’s Day we shared.

So, the question I keep asking myself is why do I continue to hold on to this pain?

Why can’t I let go of these negative feelings, embrace my step-dad the way I want to, and drive out to the beach and celebrate Father’s Day with him and my little sister?

Why am I so triggered by the idea of cooking ribs, Dad’s favorite food, on Dad’s supposed day, when he never tried hard enough to make a strong and lasting relationship with me in the first place?

Why can’t I let the toxic relationship with a dead man fade and foster the healthy one with the step-dad who is still breathing?

What drives me to cling to the past, holding for dear life to what’s bad for me—something that’s doing me no good and will only bring me more pain?

Can I truly keep saying, “Because he was my daddy,” and live with myself should something happen to my step-dad, and before I’ve made that relationship whole again? If I let that relationship fall by the wayside too, am I not doing the same thing I did with my precious daddy?

Why, O, why, do I still feel so incredibly guilty and bad for my dad, who is dead now, for wanting to treat my step-dad as the father figure he’s always been to me?

Sometimes, it feels like my dad’s ghost lives within me. The feelings inside don’t belong to me, but to him. Or maybe while I’m writing this memoir, I can’t fully separate my past self from who I am today. I know I’m growing and learning from this experience, but I worry it might take too long to make a difference for some of the most important relationships in my life.

Kinsey Keys

aspiring memoirist rummaging through my noggin, stubbornly clutching the past to my chest like it’s a newborn babe starved for mother's milk.

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