“Calling out to hungry spirits... all the lost and left-behind.” ~ Krishna Das

“When is daddy coming home?” I am pacing the living room, returning to the front window, looking out for my father. My mother doesn’t know. Daddy worked six days a week, making custom furniture. Evenings, he was out meeting with potential customers. When he wasn’t working, he was doing his political organizer thing. Daddy taught me to catch and throw a ball, took me to Dodger games, taught me to play chess. I cherished my time with him, but I couldn’t get enough. As a teenager, was I still reacting to his World War II absence? I don’t remember missing him while he was in the Navy, only the joy and excitement when I opened the apartment door on a rainy, pre-Thanksgiving evening. “It’s Daddy,” I yelled, but I don’t know how I recognized him. Was there an emptiness that remained, that could not be filled. Is the emptiness still there?

I notice how I cling to Dee, wondering if this part of growing old, of growing dependent. Am I becoming a selfish, greedy old man? When I look closely, I see it’s not Dee’s being away that upsets, it’s not knowing when she’ll return. “Just tell me what time you’ll be home so that I can plan my day.”

It’s my demon. “When is daddy coming home?” My father’s been gone more than fifty years, more than half my life. Am I still haunted by this hunger? Will it ever be satisfied? How do I work with this? I give myself a hug. Maybe this is what my demon needs. All this time I’ve been trying to ignore him, banish him, hide from him. I get angry at Dee because pacing in my mind, waiting for her return, reconnects me to my unsatisfied place. I hug him again and smiling call him, “Greedy Buddha.” He’s part of me and he’s smiling back and he’s not so ugly.