Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

I just finished up the movie, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I knew it'd be sad; I had heard. Watching it alone and reacting the way I did/am has taken me by surprise. I'm sitting here, uncontrollably sobbing.  I'm ugly crying over everything that has bothered but I have never once cried about. Sobbing for the tragedy of 9/11. Sobbing for the child in the movie who is going to grow up without a dad. I'm crying for my own dad.. something I never done. Not once. I have never cried a drop because he left my family. I have never shed one tear about being left behind by someone who raised me... as if I was nothing. Maybe I'm having this emotional experience because I think about all of the families that are in tact. How I look around and see dads pushing their kids in the stroller to go on a jog in Piedmont Park. I brake for them everyday. How lucky are those people? Luke has never had that. How lucky are those women that have a helping hand? Someone who loves them and can share the partnership with. I bet it is a wonderful experience to be pregnant with a loving partner. Can you imagine? The only other person in the world that helped create the being growing inside you. The only other person who can possibly be as excited as you are for the impending arrival. WOW. What a dream that would be.

And this brings me back to my own dad. The man who told me more than once that I was unlovable. I can't be loved. I subconsciously carry those words with me all of the time. I never admit that to myself. It seems weak of me to do so. How can I even give those words any merit coming from the person they did? It doesn't matter.  I know it shouldn't bother me. But it does. Everyone talks about daddy's girl. Father's day was exceptionally hard this year. I think it was a combination of the endless facebook posts  from all of my friends. A picture of them with their own dad during some momentous occasion in their lives. Their dad walked them down the aisle. Their dad held their baby after birth. I'll never have that. Ever. It's as if my own dad died but I was robbed of the closure of a funeral. A sudden death. A tragic death that no one saw coming. But I did. I always knew.

I hate being cynical. The world has taught me to be this way. I'm going to admit that I'm incredibly lonely. And honestly? It doesn't bother me that often. Hardly ever, in fact. It's just a way of life. I happen to like my alone time. But at the end of the day, I'd like a partner. I'd like someone to share my day with. Someone that is thinking of me. I've never had someone stay. ... and I'm SO tired of investing myself to only lose that person. Am I unlovable? No, of course not. My son has shown me a love that no one else can. He wrecked my heart when he was born. A wreck in such a good, unexpected way. I'll never be truly alone with him in my life. And it's going to be a long life.