Satellite Comes And Goes

I found you in 1996 and I lost you in 2006. It was your fault, it was my fault, it was everyone's fault and no one's fault. None of it matters anymore, except that all of it matters still. Because without that, with none of it, we wouldn't have any of this.

Today you'll celebrate your 11th fathers day with your children. We're not giving you ties and we didn't make you clay mugs and we won't cook you breakfast in bed. What we're giving you is us. We're taking you away from the things of man, and we're just going to be with you. We're leaving the messages on the phone and the dishes still piled up in the sink and the sand that is all over the goddamn laundry room floor; we're running away from all of it to remember each other. To remember you. To celebrate you.

But I'm not just celebrating you, and maybe that's wrong on the day Hallmark tells us should be all about you, but you think I can write better than Hallmark so for today, we'll make our own rules. Today I'm celebrating that everything we have was torn asunder, that it was stripped down to the studs and once we could see everything under the surface, once we really knew what we were up against, we started laying new bricks, one by one, together.

It was two years ago on Father's Day that we laid that first brick.  It was two years ago on Father's Day that we chose to accept it all without condition, without judgement, for all that it was and everything it wasn't, and just build it back up.  We gave each other all that we knew, which turned out to be a hell of a lot less than we thought, and together we've built new walls and figured out how to make this house stand.

You're still very much this alien thing to me, and our relationship floats through the universe like a satellite in orbit, occasionally going way out there, out of our orbit, but always coming back in again. I can see that satellite every time feel a little rain and look up to realize that there are still so many holes in the roof of us yet to be patched.  I think we need to be able to see it. I think we need that rain to remind us that we have to keep working. I think we need that rain to force us to look up, to remember that sometimes it goes and sometimes it comes and we don't have it all figured out and that we don't have to.  That you can be an alien, and I can be an alien, and it will still be beautiful rain.