185. What’s Left Behind – Joy Juliet Bullen
Photo from Joy Juliet Bullen
My father died when I was just on the cusp of adulthood. My grown-up self never had a chance to know him, and he never had a chance to know the grown-up me.
After my husband and I separated, I sorted through my things to choose what to take and what to leave behind. In the back of my closet, I found a shoebox full of old photos—all the ones that weren’t good enough to frame or terrible enough to throw away. I picked up a 3x5 from the pile.
In the photo, I’m about three. The same age as my youngest son, I thought, as I pulled it closer. I’m riding on my father’s shoulders, and my neck is craned. I am looking back towards a silver ocean and dull gray sky. My hands graze my dad’s ears, as if to steady myself. I can almost feel the tickle of my chubby fingers against his skin. My dad wears an old purple t-shirt with cracked white letters. His arms are leaner than I remember. His hair is beginning to recede in two gentle hills on either side of his head, but he is not as bald as he will be. What strikes me is his expression. He looks pained.
My father died when I was just on the cusp of adulthood. My grown-up self never had a chance to know him, and he never had a chance to know the grown-up me. And so I search for clues about who he was–about who I could become. People say my sister looks the most like him, but in this picture I see myself. Recently, when scrolling through my phone, I saw a photograph of myself that I’d never seen before. My older son must have taken it when I wasn’t looking. My face is frozen in the same haunted expression–the look of someone who senses that something is missing but can’t figure out what it is.
My mom probably took the picture of us on the beach. And I was probably turning my head to watch my brother carve lines in the sand with a seashell or try to outrun the waves. But my father is somewhere else.
Where was he at that moment, if not with us?
I’ll never know the answer to that question, or thousands of others I’d like to ask. But when I moved into my new house, I propped this photo up on the windowsill behind my desk. That’s where it sits now, one snapshot in time against a backdrop of changing sky.
– Joy Juliet Bullen
