Lost and Found

One of the blogs that I've stumbled upon in the past few months that I absolutely LOVE is La's La Bella Vita. If you haven't read La, well... you haven't read. Plain and simple. La takes it to the other level. It's like she writes some of her stories, and it seems as if she spent YEARS perfecting them.

La is the Truth.

All day, er' day.

Really though.

Anyway, she wrote a post sometime last August that socked me hard, I mean, left me without air. She wrote of her longings for her father, and her heart concerning such. That particular post, entitled Riverwide, is the most poignant and complicated posts I've ever read, and I will never forget it. I am estranged from my own father, and I can sit here and say that I don't feel as she does about my own father, but that post... MAN. She really delved deep. Reading that post stirred up emotions I'd kept stuffed away, only skirting them deep within ther pages of my personal journals every now and again.

My eyes were full of tears after reading that post.

Anyway, I left the following comment:

"You really know how to put your feelings into words. I think you have said what I've been trying to somehow figure out in my head when it comes to my own father...

Just last week, I sent him a card in the mail requesting to see him. I haven't seen him since I was 22. I am now 38. I made it a goal to see him before I turned 30... Let's just say that I am waaay overdo.

I haven't heard back from him, but I made a big step and sent a card with my information on it. Don't know what I will do if he doesn't respond. The man lives less than 10 minutes away, and I have driven by his home... yet I still wonder what to do. So many questions...

My emotions run the gamut, just like yours. I hope you get some resolution with your father. This post encourages me to find a way with my own.

Thank you for this post... You are such an amazing writer..."

I read that whole post twice. And she has a tendency to be longwinded, like me...

So...

I was cruising down I-20, heading home from work after picking up a prescription at the White people's Kroger, when my cell phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Lesia!"

"Yeah, who is this?" I wait for a reply. Nobody calls me that. My fam calls me "Lee" or "Lisa". Hell, some folks even call me "LadyLee". Most throw an "A" on "lesia" and call me that, since that is my gub'ment name.

"Lesia."

"Yeah, wassup?" I couldn't place the voice. Didn't sound like any of the jokers I'd given my number to in the past.

"This Milton."

I think for what feels like forever, even though it's a few seconds.

Then the name registers. I'm on the highway, but I slow down.

It was my Father.

To be continued....