***picture of my real dad, John, my sister Nikki on the left and me, the freaked out one, on the right. He didn’t care for me that much and he left me to always help my sister (he didn’t believe I was his at first or something) so my mom and Aunt C say, but my other Aunt J says how much he loved us, even if it was for a short while, he loved us. And that fills quite a gap in my chest. His love from what…two years…is enough to help me get over the “unlove” from the next father figure. Doesn’t make up for all that I lost and gained, nor the fact that there is some irreparable damage done to me, but hey, I’m not asking for too much. He loved me then. He loved me. Aunt J told me last week on the anniversary of his death that I have my dad’s beautiful, dark eyes and long lashes. No one’s ever told me I had anything of his. I cried because I was so happy. I have his eyes. Despite the comb-over and goggle glasses, he actually was a handsome guy. This one time, after not talking for years (decades) I found him in a bar, and I sat and had a beer with him, I had a beer with my daddy, and he took out the pictures of my sisters and I in his old wallet, and he knew somehow where we were living and what our jobs were. He was like an excited child that I was sitting with him. There was no past or future there, we were just blood relatives having a beer, wishing for so much from each other and not knowing what that was.