I wish you were here. Honestly, I would like nothing more.


Great Floyd tune. Yeah, the whole album, but what Roger was saying may have been missed by many.

Roger Waters’ intention was much more literal than many may think. Yes, literal. Figuratively, actually, literal.

Syd was a founding member of one of the best, if not THE best, progressive rock bands in history. Pink Floyd. But Syd’s leaving was not without a shift of love and admiration. Seriously. Look at all of the albums after his departure that speak of him. Nick, Richard and Roger loved this man, even though he was losing his grip. They even wanted to keep him busy with just writing after David Gilmour joined. Yes, they wanted to have and keep him around that much. Those three guys loved Syd.

There are moments in our lives when we know that there is someone in our lives with whom we could be so much closer to, in heart, in spirit, in love, but more than anything, in life, but we are limited by their choice to be distant. There are times when we just want to tell them, “This is not about who is right or wrong, it’s about dropping your wall and not only letting someone in, but also about you reaching out.” All of it. Of course, we all need space, but there are times when we can not bear to be alone. There are people who used to be in my life, they are still around, but have decided to walk on. Not out of necessity, but out of selfishness. People who prefer to cause others pain rather than to be kind to them. Something I do not understand. I will never understand that thinking. To be mean and vicious just to do it. That is something I just can not understand.

Dave and the guys could have taken offense and ostracized Syd from the pack, but they didn’t. Syd left them. The finer bits of information none of us will ever know. You had to be there. But the point is that they still loved him. Roger even wrote songs about him after his departure. Even as much as one wants to think that these were songs with some degree of ridicule or vitriol, this is not so. He was asking Syd, “What can we do to get you to understand? How can I get your feet back on the ground? What have we not done that we could have? What did you want us to know?” I have seen many interviews with the Floyd guys and they, indeed, loved Syd. How could they not? He was inspirational, inventive, imaginative, gentle, compassionate, the list goes on. He had the idea to put Pink Floyd together. He even named the band after two of his musical inspirations. Pink Anderson and Floyd Council. Look it up.

The point here is that at times, we can be very judgmental of our best friends, our professional associates, even family members because we choose to step in front of them in all things. We can also be very protective of ourselves, even at the expense of family members that we should love. Family members who are our children, our parents, nieces, nephews, daughters and sons. Friends, sisters and brothers. Sometimes, mean as hell. Yep, mean as hell. I have seen it in my life and family. It continues to this very moment.

There is a particular member of my family of whom I have written about much in this blog of mine. I am not sure if that person is not handling age well and feels guilty, maybe even ashamed and is now extremely defensive, but in no uncertain terms, absent. In every way, absent. I feel so bad for his pain.

There is so much I want to tell him, but I never will see the opportunity. Not because I want to keep it from him, but because he will never lower the wall, his guard, the defenses enough to allow what I want to tell him to be received. I could send letters daily, and he may even read them, but as he has done before, sent them back. He may have read them, but I got what was being said. “No thanks, stop sending these to me.” He will never approach the table. I want to be wrong on this in a major way.

I have never been disrespectful, never berated his or our name. Never done anything I can imagine that would brew a pot of hate that I know is at the other end of the rainbow. I just don’t know.

I do know that I want to be heard. I want to tell my side. I want to hear his side, but since I have moved so far away from him, I will probably never get the chance. I feel that I could prepare him for my flight, for my arrival, for my humble offering, but also know that I would be turned away as I stepped off of the plane. Refused at the last moment just for spite.

I have fought with this for so long, I have told myself that I need to let it go, and I really do need to, but I just can’t. I don’t want to “show him,” I don’t need the “last word” I just want to know why, as I am sure, Roger wanted to know.

I have taught myself to never embrace the emotion of hate. Never to put myself above others. Never to be unaware of what happens around me. Never to abandon hope. Even with those promises, I must let go. It hurts, it is painful, but it could be different. It could be different. It can.

I wish I could tell you that you are important to me in a way that would melt your hate, your pride, your pain. You can not feel the way you do toward me without putting pain and hate in your heart. You can not feel the way you do without suffering, but yet, it can be removed with a few simple words. Just a minute of hearing, listening, owning the words. You can have joy in an instant. Your determination to convince yourself that your feelings are valid is absolutely wasted energy. You will prove nothing to anyone, aside from the fact that you are more in favor of and more capable of hating, rather than showing love. You will achieve nothing other than proving to yourself that you can ‘do’ such a thing. Causing yourself to suffer just to be able to sustain the emotion of hate makes no sense in any realm. I have done nothing ever to receive this treatment. How do I know? Because we have spent no more than 10 years of either of our lives together in the 60 years that I have been alive. The tenth year was 1971 to 1972. Ten years after the previous time we were together, ten years after the divorce from my mother when I was just eight years old in 1962.

In closing, I must say that I do, indeed, wish you were here. In heart, in mind, in soul and in love. As little as I actually know about you, I want to know more. Sending me that birthday card, last year, telling me that you are not my father was painful, but actually more sad than painful. Considering that you took the time and devoted the effort to create something hateful to send to your “precious blue eyed ‘Number One Son,'” I am sure you laughed all the way to the mail box, there was so much else that would have been easier and better that you could have done. How supremely hateful. When I opened it, I felt sorrow for you. I felt pain for you. I felt a need to embrace you, but your wall is too high, and regardless of where I am physically, I know I will never get close enough to you to even touch that wall. I did not feel insulted, I did not feel any less than what I am. I felt pity for you in a way I never had before.

Your health is failing, as you have told me when we were actually speaking, and you won’t last much longer. You have now outlived your father, whom I believe, is the root of your issue. If you could step out of that skin, your possibilities would be endless, even at 82 years old.

You are important to me, but you could be so much more through your own actions.

You could be as big as you once were, and even more important now.

Adieu,
Kelly J.

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