junkgems

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my dad

I spent the last weekend in Chicago with my mother and sister. The anticipation was causing me anxiety, not knowing how it would feel to visit my father’s birthplace without him for the first time. I’ve learned that situations like this often send me into a state of worry, trying to correctly guess how I will feel in a situation that is impossible to predict. 

For the first two days, I was okay. Not visiting since I was 17, I felt like I was in a new place, discovering it on my own. Being with my family brings up emotion, of course, but in a way that sometimes makes me feel competitive or exhausted, sharing memories to prove who had the best relationship, retelling stories we have all heard countless times. In a way, it makes me feel more distant from my Dad because it makes me want to talk about him less–it’s easier for me in some backwards sort of way. 

On Saturday, however, we met with two of my dad’s closest friends from his adolescence, Dave and Jamie, in a restaurant they all frequented growing up. In sitting down with the two of them, hearing their Chicagoan affectations, noticing their frequent hand gestures, recalling stories of smoking pot at 16 in Skokie, Illinois, I could have sworn my dad was in front of me. To my own surprise, amidst one of the stories, I began to cry. I did it in the passive way, when tears roll down your face even though no part of you is expecting there to be so. Silent, almost emotionless, my body expelling feelings of loss and nostalgia without my consent. 

The experience was a revelation in true understanding that you can feel the presence of a person even if they are no longer with us. I somewhat knew this, but in a lesser way–the idea of feeling connection through the things that composed a person–listening to a Mott the Hoople song, having a really superb cup of coffee, or seeing a Chevy Chase or John Belusi clip bring his essence to me. But the proposition of others making you feel closest to the person you lost felt new and wondrously inspiring to me. There is a beauty in that our being lives on in those we love deepest and know closest. 

All of this to say, it brought me back to fall of last year, where I felt the most connected to the idea that even though my dad is gone, his legacy and spirit have a home in me, and by existing, the world still gets to meet him. His vivacity, his generosity, his humor, his ambition are all my vivacity, my generosity, my humor, and my ambition. This notion brings me an immeasurable amount of peace. And, to have this epiphany over sharing a meal with friends and family, the core commodities of Mike Brown, brings me the most comfort of all.

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condemned to watch

from kim gordon's memoir Girl in a Band

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lofi glamour

from kim gordon's memoir Girl in a Band

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