THANKFUL THING #4: LOVE CONQUERS HATE

ME AND DADDY, CIRCA 1980

     This is somewhat of a personal entry, almost too personal to be written; but one that needs to be told. In an era where everything seems hopeless, the world desperately needs light among the darkness. So, without further adieu, allow me to share thankful thing number four: love conquers hate.
    When I was five years old, my parents divorced, and my father became estranged from my life. I did get to see him on and off during my early childhood years, but that was about it. I grew up knowing nothing about how to be a man. Everything I learned about responsibility and Independence, I taught myself.
    Years passed and he became nothing more than a stranger to me. I grew up hating him, because of his absence. Everything I experienced was his fault, and everything I DIDN'T experience was his fault. It was an anger I'd never known before and a hate addiction that quickly consumed me.
    Then, in Spring of 2006, I met an acquaintance of the family who told me my father was dying of cancer. I was floored, because I wanted David Bolton to die an old man in a nursing home, I'd give him "what-for", and he'd die of shock that way. It sounds morbid, but you just had to have been there. I always thought when he died, I'd have my closure. The truth is his untimely death didn't bring closure. Instead, it magnified into a hell I couldn't have fathomed.
    Christmas 2006 came and I got the phone call from Mom. She told me she'd went to visit with him and insisted I did the same. I was reluctant, but went anyway. When I saw him in his feeble state, it was like nothing really mattered, except that moment. And when the day came when I finally forgave him, it was like years of anger and hate melted away, and the little boy in me stopped weeping in darkness and walked into gentle rays of light.
     How did I forgive him? I'm not really sure. It wasn't as colossal a change of heart as you'd think. I forgave him and just decided to let it all go. When death comes, nothing's as important as anyone think it would be, except the uncontrolled, stray thoughts of wondering what might've been. 
    On January 16, 2007, Michael David Bolton died peacefully in his sleep. And when he died, I kissed his hand and embraced him like a child. When he was laid to rest, I remembered how important it was that I said goodbye to him as my dad instead of the man I never knew. 
    His hands held me when I came into this world, and my hands held him when he left it; and that, my dear friends, was the most precious moment of my life.