Forty-two years ago today, at the age of fifty-seven years and one hundred sixty-three days William P. Kenny, Sr. died. He was my father. At the time of his death, I was fourteen. I am now fifty-six. I have now reached the point of my existence where I have lived three times as long without my father as I lived with him.
Song for Orphans
-Bruce Springsteen
For those keeping score at home - and I assure you I am - July 16, 2024 is circled on my calendar. It shall mark the one hundred and sixty-fourth day of my fifty-seventh year. I intend to get there. I owe my father at least that much.
-AK
I still think the best and purest thing he ever did was let his heart give out. He knew he could not change; Mom despised him. The father I miss is more of a dream of what one might be.
ReplyDeleteTwo remarkable sentiments, Adam; yours, and the comment from 'anonymous' on the vision of the parent we choose to remember. Both eloquent and heartbreaking. This is the FIRST year since he died that I have not spent the day in a somewhat morose and totally futile rehashing of our relationship and dynamic (perhaps because with every day and in every way I see more of him in everything I do).
ReplyDeleteThank you for your words. I didn't know I needed them until I read them. I know the feeling of watching the calendar all too well, and you'll do just fine, I know it. Love you, Bill
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rakxgird7gQ&ab_channel=LoudonWainwrightIII-Topic
Bill, I am the unintentional anonymous replied to Adam’s blog entry. I can’t seem to figure out how to dip it under my own name. Evan
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