An Analysis of Father'S Memories in My Childhood

Tonight there is moon eclipse. Tonight is as long and as full of yearning like every other night, since my father is gone. I am hearing the voices from a distance. It is getting harder as time passes by to remember; the faces, names, memories and distances. I am really far, but I am there. My hands are still empty. Life consists of millions of little pictures in my head; sad, happy, eventful and maybe empty. There is so much to live, taste, talk share with my father. Yet he is gone.

I am to write a traumatic childhood event that taught me about human nature per my professor “Mr. Roycraft”. Yet the loss of my father especially since I never lived with him is a trauma of a life time that has taught me “desperation”, when loss of life is inevitable.

My parents got divorced, when I was three years old. I was given to my mother by court. My father had visitation rights that he never used. It was rather like, if I had a restraining order against him. I always force myself to remember him, but it is so hard because there are only a few memories of him. My mother got remarried when I was 9. In between the ages of 3 and 9, I have seen my father three times. No matter how much my mother begged him in discreet from me, he did not have the desire to see his first, last and only child. I knew this as I was growing up. It was very sad in the beginning, then due to human nature I assume, I learned to accept and forgive.

I was 17 and had no clue, where he lives. He was married to his third wife, my mother being the first one. I decided to see him on my own that year. I asked my mother couple times and she got upset with me. I knew that if I ask her again, her being very upset with his irresponsible behavior towards me, that she was going to object. Also I was going to deal with the consequences of being a traitor towards her, by wishing to still see my father, as he never cared for me. Yet my mother was the one who raised me up. She went to medical school, worked full time, took care of me and the house and always cooked homemade food from scratch, everyday of my life for me. I never had to eat frozen or fast food growing up. I can never pay back to this wonderful woman. She has been a warrior, best friend and my hero. So to make it short, I left my home with a letter addressed to my mother advising that I am going away for a while and she is a great mother, yet I need to be on my own. I went to Istanbul from Ankara (the capital city of Turkey), which is 280 miles. That morning when I was pretending to leave for school, I kissed my little brother, mom and my sweet step-dad who basically raised me up. The guilt was horrible. At the time, I thought that I am never going to see them again, because I am leaving very indecent.

Well, I took the first bus and in 5 hours I was on the bridge connecting Asia to Europe, the great city of Byzantine Istanbul. I knew the street they lived on “Baghdad Street”. I was on a 5 mile long best street of Istanbul, clueless of their address. I decide to walk find the condominium they lived in. All I could remember was the brick groundskeeper house in front of the condominium. When I was 5 and spending time with my granny, my father had other things to do as usual, I cut my feet right by the brick house by stepping on a light bulb. Anyway, I found the house after 2 hours of walk, walked to the building read the names of the residents. I was so glad to find my last name along with my grandmother’s first name on the list. After 20 minutes of strong praying, I rang the bell and heard her voice through the dufone. “Ipek, sweetie come up breakfast is ready getting cold!” Then I saw this tiny sweet woman, just like I remembered her when I was 8. She kissed me, hugged me and called my mother. She said that; my mother decided since I was a responsible girl unlike my father, I would have only leave the way I did to see my father and would not run away for any other reason. My hero was right again. My father was in a close by city and on his way to see me. We had a great breakfast with my granny, which still puts a smile to my face as I write. Then I was told to take a nap. I would say that I did not close my eyes for one second that day from the excitement. Then I heard him, he arrived with his latest wife, I was paralyzed, my hear was racing. He came into the room, sat on the bed where I was imitating being a sleep. I had no clue about how to call him “dad”. He said that I am tall and pretty. At that moment, all my worries were gone; I hugged him so tight and cried. He kept saying” I knew that one day you will wonder what kind of a man your father is? And then you will come and see me”. Then I saw his wife by the door that I noticed did not like me very much. My father had real hard time breathing. He told me that he was sick in his lungs, had some radiation therapy, which deformed his chest bone structure. I know this because he made me touch his chest later. It was as if he was making excuses for his absence for many years. You have to understand that I had no picture of him; I did not even know or remember what he looked like until that day. I was then taken back to my mother due to school, the very next day. On the way driving back to my home, my father wanted me to sit in the front seat with him. His wife objected so I sat in the back seat.

My last good and sad memory of him is listening “shoot down the moon by Sir Elton John” in his car. The lyrics are” You can shoot down the moon, something’s never change, you can build a bridge between us but the empty space remains” This was my favorite song at the time and reminded me of my father. When he had the cassette and slide it in the deck, my heart was fast again. Then he said to me “this is my favorite song”. I replied”mine too”. So he said “Let this be our song then”. I cried so much after this conversation but never showed my tears to him or his wife. Because the lyrics were just like our relationship to this date. I think he was aware of it. I want to believe that he was.

When we arrived to my house, our elevator was out of order. My father was having a hard time breathing and climbing the stairs as I lived on the penthouse floor. Anyway, because my step-dad did not want my real father in our house, my step-grandfather came down stairs and thanked my father. Then he was gone, I walked him to his car and apologized for my step-father. He smiled and said” You are a grown up and I love you”.

My father said that I would see him for summer. I went to grandmother but he stood me up, never came. He called many times promising to but never did, then he called and said that he was going to Black Sea region with his wife. I never told my mother these; she thinks we spent that summer together. I do not want her to be sadder about this. In fact I never told anyone or write about it.

Following the summer, my father died of lung cancer a very bad type of mesotholiama. He was only 44, it was October and I was notified 3 days after his death. I always imagine that he ignored me, because he did not want me to see his last days and get attached to him. He knew he was dying. I always felt the great pain and regret of not knowing my father. After his death, I was very angry with him for dying as if it was in his control to reverse the time. I wanted to know him but never did. I think in time I overcame my frustrations and sadness and learned to love the only vivid memory of him, when I found him again that day. Then I accepted the fact that life has a way of its own. The very important and hurtful lesson that I learned from this sad experience is that, I will love and treat people like, if there is “no tomorrow”. I try to treat people as if I might lose them, which makes life and relationships less painful for me. It soothes my heart to know that I won’t hurt people.

Tonight there is moon eclipse and all my little pictures in my head are refreshed as it is my duty to remember, always. I never want to forget my father. I love my father unconditionally, though he was not a hero.

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