But, Dad, it was Taylor

But, Dad, it was Taylor. I don’t understand. How am I supposed to able to live without her? Remember that she was so tiny, 4pounds and 11 ounces. You said I could fit in a breadbox when I was born and that Taylor was smaller. And, she was perfect and I remember at 3 weeks, I rested her in your arms and her eyes were open. She melted into you, Dad. That never went away. She just got sick.

Remember she would just cry every night and we couldn’t help her. But, she loved to laugh and play. She laughed easily, so tiny. She struggles in pre-school. You have a pair of the binoculars made of toilet paper rolls in Art, right? I have one. I think you do, too. I never showed them to her. I wonder what is wrong with me that I didn’t think of it before. I guess I wasn’t nostalgic because I was entranced in loving you in the present.

 

I remember picking her up in 5^th grade at the school. She would wait for you or me in the office, white with fear or almost grey. I looked at her and saw the fear, Dad. You and I remember. It was hard on us. But, she gave you joy. She used to kiss the turkey and she used to call you on the phone to tattle on me. She had fits of anger back then and I used to take her to her doctors and counselors and we never got an answer.

Neither you or Mom believed me that she needed help but Metro helped her. You drove her there and back. You brought her breakfast. You got to be there with her. It was hard but not all the time. She demanded you put her shoes on, “Papa do it.” You loved her so much.

I loved her long hair, thick and slightly purple. You always asked her, “What did you do to your hair?” That would start an argument with her or she’d say something silly like, “Papa, get over it.” I don’t really know what she’d say because you had so much time with her.

I don’t think of all of the fighting so much. I still love that every time you came over, you’d say that her room was dirty. Like it was a surprise. I am laughing out loud, now. I think her anxiety really made her scattered, Dad. She lost her keys. I know you had to go get her more than once at 1am. She didn’t even call me for that. She called you and Mama because she knew you’d come.

You are still the king of smartass one-liners. But, she shared that talent with you, too. “Don’t you have your own white car?” I think she was about four at the time? “Don’t touch me.” “Don’t talk to me.” “Mom won’t feed me.” You used to have something to say to me when I walked out the door when I lived at home and she did the same thing. She stormed out of the house in rage that no one could identify for some magical reason we’ll never know….and I made it worse. How many times did she wreck the cars? But, at the same time she was using those cars to help people and animals and go to work and she was genuinely a good person.

It was Taylor, Dad. I can’t do what everyone wants me to do. I can’t just forget about it and accept it and move on and be okay and strong and let her go and whatever people want to make me feel bad for. You and Mama are the only ones who loved her the way we did together. And, I’m sorry that she hurt you and she didn’t mean to. Bad things were happening because she was breaking and I didn’t stop it, Dad. I feel ashamed when I think of that.

I think we’re moving, maybe slowly, but I have responsibilities and I know what’s expected of me. Remember you and I when I was growing up. You took my friends or family and me everywhere. You stood for hours at Six Flags and Taylor grew to love the rides at that awful place just like me. You did that. And, my breath is frozen in my heart because I’ll never run with her through Six Flags again. She just naturally fit, you know.

 

Did you know the story of Taylor and a new friend sitting on a bench at Six Flags? People were walking by, I’m sure kids jumping, and a couple had a leash on their child, I guess Taylor phrased it better than child harness, don’t you? Anyway, this couple is walking by and Taylor plainly and with clarity addresses them, “I like your dog.” I missed that, But, we didn’t miss her at parks and playing in the pool. I think I put up about 4 pools at my house and every time, you’d ask, “Why are you putting up a pool?” Mostly, because Mom bought a few for us. But, it wasn’t a question for Taylor, Tommy, or me. We loved having summer camp at home. You used to wrap her up in a towel from the time she was tiny until she was almost full-grown. I remember you letting her play in a brand new trashcan lid in the backyard when she was a baby. Those are the best pictures, I think.

 

I need you to see her from my point of view. Every time I walked out of the house, Taylor had a  comment. “Oh, my Gawd you’re not wearing that.” My answer was, “What am I supposed to wear?” She quipped, “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

 “Are you picking up food?” That’s your fault. She learned to call you so young. She called you above anyone.  “Mom won’t feed me,” as I was cooking dinner. You blamed me all the time for her doing that but you loved any chance to see her and I loved any chance to see you. At least we got to do it.

 

She hugged you always. From the first time you held her, you never let her go. She hugged you and you wrapped your strong hands around her face and she smiled. That gave me joy. That I could give you that gift of unconditional love from my daughter who I loved so much and was able to share with you and Mom. Until the very last moment I saw her alive, she and I held each other. She called me and said, “Come up to my work and say goodbye.” So, naturally we trained professionals did just that. I walked in and held her at the bar in front of who cares. But, I always did that anyway. She laid down on the couch and I would jump on her and hold her down to hug her. I stepped into her way almost daily to hug her and if it made her mad that didn’t help anything for her finding her keys or apron or shoes but it gave me joy . And, then we found her keys in her car with the window rolled down and her purse wide open in the center. That big green purse that’s hanging in her room now. You may have been with her when she bought the purse. You told me that she lost her phone in a shoebox in a shoe store. So, I’m surprised that she didn’t lose one in a purse! I loved the way you talked about shopping with her. She just didn’t want to or try to spend money for no reason. The tattoos is a different story and I won’t tell you about that. But, you liked the way she would look at everything and annoyingly but admirably buying nothing.

 

She called me from your house many times to come there with you and Mom. Most of the time she was playing cards with Mama and or Carla. She was always relaxed then. I don’t know if you ever watched her play Skip-Bo but she held her cards and always won. I asked her to tell me how she did that, She told me that because I wanted to know she was not telling me her secret. She kept that one, too. I hate to see Mama now with no cards and no Taylor and when I walk in she’s not there and I feel like it was my fault or help in stopping suffering but whatever happened, she was impulsive, Dad. She was also determined as a kid and bossy in the most flip-flop, sundress, long hair, tattooed, lip gloss, curse word kind of way. That was my life for 22 years. You and Mom gave me the best childhood I could have and we all tried to do that for Taylor and Tommy. Even though telling Tommy that we’d take him to the park when he refused to nap…and then drive him around the block at which time he’d fall asleep and we realize that we tricked him but he needed a nap. Sorry, Tom.

 

I remember the look on her face in that photo of her sitting on your leg at her 21^st birthday party when she wore my necklace and shoes. She was so proud to be sitting by her Papa. You see her light shine, Her whole face lit up. Look at the photos. Remember who she was to you and is to me now. I can’t get over her until I’m ready and I’m not making promises.  But, I am sorry she’s gone. I’ll never be able to know if she was mostly happy and then …broke? She was just figuring things out. As are we.

 

Oh, and through all of this and the stress right now in our family, I'm sure you'd be happy to know that mom and my relationship is improving dramatically. It's growing. And, you're still my hero.