Eulogy For Father

Located in a forest, was a park my dad had taken me to for a space of around two years. In the summer it was lush and virescent, the full trees bringing shade and fabricating new mountains to scale. The winter was beautifully barren and had seemed to be as clear as crystalline ice, reflecting the beauty around every surface. All year the park was feigning beauty and then mocking the word in which it was described. It held everything that could possibly make a child happy, including the beaming, champagne colored ice cream truck. Even the champagne was pretending to be beautiful; the color peeled off in feathers of paint as if the truck was pluming for everyone’s entertainment. My father got me an ice cream every time we went, which more or

Like a thirsty dog, I quickly lap up the driblets, making sure to not allow any of the candied perfection to go to waste. The drug, now being inside my body, made me happier than, possibly my flower garden, or even Disneyland. At the time, I thought the happiness was from my dad. I mean, it should be from my dad; a parental figure should make you happy, right? At least that is what I thought then, now I know; parental figures do not give you happiness, you make that for yourself. The reality of this however, does not stop the wants nor the memories from coming

My father had gone to court, brawling the justice system for more time with me, because apparently first, third, and fifth weekends weren’t enough. My mom had fought regardless of the cost to keep me from the innocence-hunting beast like the valiant knight I knew her to be when I was small. She had almost won with the court taking the fifth weekend visitations away, however they had decided we could be a good family therefore sending both me and my father to reunification therapy. In other words, trying to rebuild the broken bond, but as Dr. Roberts (my therapist) said, “Reunification therapy only works if both parties are