A life lost

Monday I made the trip to my Dad's grave site. I hadn't visited his grave since moving back to Utah. I have no excuses. I just didn't want to go. I made the decision that this Memorial Day I would go and pay my respects. I stopped off at the grocery store and purchased some simple pink roses. I don't know why pink roses, but I was just drawn to them. I got back into my car and started feeling a little nervous, like I was meeting him for the first time. The grounds were packed with people, tons of people, and I was alone. It felt strange to be there alone, but I think I wanted to be there by myself, to reflect.
I had only been to his site once before (in 2003), but felt certain that I would be able to find it. After about 20 minutes of wandering around in the wrong spot, I looked up and saw a lone birch tree. Something told me that was where he was. I made my way across the road, wandered a bit, and almost walking over the top of it, found his headstone. A simple granite stone that was provided by the VA. It read: (stuff removed for security)

XXXXXX Christensen
Born xxxx 1946 Died xxxx 2002
xxx US Army
Vietnam

That was it. No "loving husband, father, brother, and son" inscribed. Nothing. I began to cry. I don't know why, and believe me, I didn't want to, but I just felt so sad. Here is the man who helped give me life. I am a part of him, he is a part of me, and I know nothing about him. I have memories of the few moments in my life we were together. I have a few photos of when I was very young, of him holding me, but I still don't know who this man was.
US Army, Vietnam. There has to be more of his story than that. He lived for 56 years. What were his hopes and dreams? What did he aspire to want to be in his life? Did he miss me? Did he love me? Did he wish he could have been my father?
I know the war messed him up. My mom said he used to wake up in the middle of the night screaming, and you couldn't touch his feet while he slept because he would attack you for stealing his boots. My mom leaving him and taking me away when I was only 2 also messed him up. He seemed so lost and confused. He was unable to do much of anything to take care of himself. I will never know the true cost of Vietnam to his spirit, but I think it was a high price.

What I do remember is that he loved to drive his big, black, Cadillac. After he was awarded visitation, he would come to my new house every other Saturday. We would leave in that Cadillac, and I would sit on the arm rest in between the seats (it was the 70s), he would take me to do fun things, like play at the arcade, or visit with my very large Christensen family. He bought me stuffed animals and pretty jewelry. I remember looking forward to our weekend visits, and then one day they stopped. He was gone, again. At the age of 8, my father was legally removed from my life. My mom said it was because he wasn't paying child support, and was a bad influence on my life. To this day, I still get angry at her for this. In fact, when I was in my early 20s, I legally removed my step-dad's last name, and added Christensen again. Maybe it was just my way of claiming myself, of who I was, and renewing ties with my heritage again. The one thing I knew about my father, was that he enjoyed me, he enjoyed spending time with me, even if it was only one day every two weeks.

I remember the day I got the call that he had passed away. I had just gotten home from work, and there was a message on my answering machine from a cousin telling me that my father had died. He was in poor health (years of bad diet and smoking) and had taken his dog to Sugarhouse park for a walk. However, due to his poor health, he was unable to actually walk his dog. Instead, he would drive his truck while walking the dog outside the vehicle. While at the park, he apparently had a massive heart attack and crashed into a light poll. He did not die at that time, but was taken to the Veterans hospital, where the doctors apparently could do nothing to save his life. He died there, alone. When I am at Sugarhouse park, I sometimes wonder what was going through is mind, what his final thoughts were. My hope is that somehow he made peace with himself and with this world.

I enclosed a video of a song that I distinctly remember playing on the radio in his big, black Cadillac one summer afternoon when I was about 7 years old. I remember him playing this song very loudly and we sang it together. I listen to the lyrics now and wonder if this was the way he viewed himself and his life.

Rest in peace, Dad.