Eli, I'm sorry you lost your dad when you were so young, when he was so young. I'm also impressed that you wrote such an insightful account of your experience of your non-experience with your dad and your non-memories of him. Also that you wrote it so well.
I can relate to some of what you wrote, but my experience was, for the most part, quite different from yours. I was 14 when my suddenly dad died. I had gotten to spend a lot of time with him by then, so I do have lots of personal memories to go with the stories I've heard from others. I do have personal insights into who he was, both for me and for others. And that's been good for me. At the same time, I also wish I had even more memories ... there are never enough.
As I recall him, as I recall having recalled him so many times, I can feel what you're missing. It seems to me that I can guess pretty well how I might feel if all that I'm able to recall of him were instead just emptiness, or only stories from others. But, because I do have those memories, I can't fully know the emptiness and the wondering that you're experiencing.
One thing I do know, though, is that stories from others are, to some extent, just stories that others happen to remember and that they are only the way they want to remember him. On one level, they're whitewashed to feel better, to feel good, more so from some people than from others. Also, stories are limited to what each person paid attention to, and most people are pretty limited in what they pay attention to. Collectively, though, from everyone who has shared stories, there are consistent patterns and themes that I think present a more reliable picture. And I find that those patterns and themes feel real to me in that they are consistent with my own impressions and memories – the kinds of impressions and memories that you are unfortunately missing. This suggests to me that perhaps the stories you've heard about your dad might, collectively, present some consistent patterns and themes that you could rely on as being more real in their telling even if they don't feel real to you from your experiencing. But there will certainly be lots that other people didn't pay attention to about your dad, things that others totally missed, things that he might have done a good job of hiding, even.
What I wish that I had been able to have was an adult-to-adult relationship with my dad. Adults relating with each other have different sorts of discussions, different types of sharing that I missed out on. Consequently, I've tried sometimes to imagine how it might have been for me as an adult to talk about stuff with him. Also, as an adult, especially as I've gotten older, I wonder about all sorts of things I never learned about him, that I never even heard about him from others. There are lots of questions I would have liked to ask about his younger life, about how it was to be the oldest child out of eight, and about how it was to drop out of school after eighth grade to start working to help the family as the "second man" of the household. He was still just a kid. I don't even know what his first job was. I don't know what he liked as a kid, what he worried about, what he just thought about things, how he got along with his parents and siblings, who his friends were, what he did for fun or if he got into trouble at all. Lots of questions with no answers, no clues, no stories from others, very few old photos. I could have asked my mother or my dad's siblings, but I didn't really think to do that before it was too late, before they were all gone, too.
My only suggestion for you is to ask questions. Not necessarily just about your dad, but also questions of your mother and other family members, both immediate and extended family. Even if you think you know a whole lot about someone, there's always more you could learn, little stuff, stuff you'll wonder about when you get older ... like me. Go through old photos and ask who all the people are – someday you'll wonder but won't have anyone to ask. Once in a while as you're doing this, you might pick up something more about your dad, too, something to help you fill in a few little blanks. I have a few bits and pieces about my dad that I'll never really know more about, but I do find it interesting to contemplate some bit and expand it into broader wondering that, speculative though it may be, is still interesting as a way to contemplate possibilities. It's not the same as a memory, but I feel it does help create a reasonable context within which I can perhaps better understand my dad based on what I actually do know about him.
Anyway, I enjoyed reading your thoughts here and I also appreciate your prompt for me to delve a bit into contemplating my own dad and the knowns and unknowns around him. Take care and be well.
Eli, I'm sorry you lost your dad when you were so young, when he was so young. I'm also impressed that you wrote such an insightful account of your experience of your non-experience with your dad and your non-memories of him. Also that you wrote it so well.
I can relate to some of what you wrote, but my experience was, for the most part, quite different from yours. I was 14 when my suddenly dad died. I had gotten to spend a lot of time with him by then, so I do have lots of personal memories to go with the stories I've heard from others. I do have personal insights into who he was, both for me and for others. And that's been good for me. At the same time, I also wish I had even more memories ... there are never enough.
As I recall him, as I recall having recalled him so many times, I can feel what you're missing. It seems to me that I can guess pretty well how I might feel if all that I'm able to recall of him were instead just emptiness, or only stories from others. But, because I do have those memories, I can't fully know the emptiness and the wondering that you're experiencing.
One thing I do know, though, is that stories from others are, to some extent, just stories that others happen to remember and that they are only the way they want to remember him. On one level, they're whitewashed to feel better, to feel good, more so from some people than from others. Also, stories are limited to what each person paid attention to, and most people are pretty limited in what they pay attention to. Collectively, though, from everyone who has shared stories, there are consistent patterns and themes that I think present a more reliable picture. And I find that those patterns and themes feel real to me in that they are consistent with my own impressions and memories – the kinds of impressions and memories that you are unfortunately missing. This suggests to me that perhaps the stories you've heard about your dad might, collectively, present some consistent patterns and themes that you could rely on as being more real in their telling even if they don't feel real to you from your experiencing. But there will certainly be lots that other people didn't pay attention to about your dad, things that others totally missed, things that he might have done a good job of hiding, even.
What I wish that I had been able to have was an adult-to-adult relationship with my dad. Adults relating with each other have different sorts of discussions, different types of sharing that I missed out on. Consequently, I've tried sometimes to imagine how it might have been for me as an adult to talk about stuff with him. Also, as an adult, especially as I've gotten older, I wonder about all sorts of things I never learned about him, that I never even heard about him from others. There are lots of questions I would have liked to ask about his younger life, about how it was to be the oldest child out of eight, and about how it was to drop out of school after eighth grade to start working to help the family as the "second man" of the household. He was still just a kid. I don't even know what his first job was. I don't know what he liked as a kid, what he worried about, what he just thought about things, how he got along with his parents and siblings, who his friends were, what he did for fun or if he got into trouble at all. Lots of questions with no answers, no clues, no stories from others, very few old photos. I could have asked my mother or my dad's siblings, but I didn't really think to do that before it was too late, before they were all gone, too.
My only suggestion for you is to ask questions. Not necessarily just about your dad, but also questions of your mother and other family members, both immediate and extended family. Even if you think you know a whole lot about someone, there's always more you could learn, little stuff, stuff you'll wonder about when you get older ... like me. Go through old photos and ask who all the people are – someday you'll wonder but won't have anyone to ask. Once in a while as you're doing this, you might pick up something more about your dad, too, something to help you fill in a few little blanks. I have a few bits and pieces about my dad that I'll never really know more about, but I do find it interesting to contemplate some bit and expand it into broader wondering that, speculative though it may be, is still interesting as a way to contemplate possibilities. It's not the same as a memory, but I feel it does help create a reasonable context within which I can perhaps better understand my dad based on what I actually do know about him.
Anyway, I enjoyed reading your thoughts here and I also appreciate your prompt for me to delve a bit into contemplating my own dad and the knowns and unknowns around him. Take care and be well.