Not This Year

There. I've posted something Green. Shawn Green. (Getty Images)

March is often a rough month, but a month that I also sort of like.

I like it because it means spring is upon us by the time it's over.  I like it because of March Madness and we're that much closer to baseball season (though baseball started early this year).

It's rough because it also has painful memories. Memories that I chose to ignore this year.

I lost a grandmother in March of 1983. She was 80 and in poor health.

I lost a father in March of 1989. He was 59 and was probably not the vision of health, but his heart attack was still a shock.

I still can't figure this March out, if I may speak out loud, thus "making it about me."

My feelings are weird. Me -- emotional, wearing my heart on my sleeve -- feeling nothing. Not sad. Just. Nothing.

March 17 -- St. Patrick's Day -- is the date my dad passed while watching The Quiet Man on TV. This year was the 30th anniversary of that horrible night. Pre-cell phone, I was told to get home, arriving at an empty house. I called for answers and got it.

Dead.

I was largely alone for the 30th anniversary. Nobody seemed to concern themselves with raising a glass to the old man. Nobody seemed to need to visit the cemetery.

I had two texts about him. My mother barely mentioned his passing. I didn't hear from my siblings or other family members. It was a day. Just an average Sunday.

I did nothing on social media (I normally do). I didn't write about him here (ditto...until now). I didn't dedicate my podcast to him.

It was like he didn't exist, or didn't matter.

The whole thing is hard to explain.

So I sat home, save for having to go out for a few hours when I really didn't want to.

Alone, and yet not.

I rolled my eyes and ignored the myriad people who had to post the GIF/picture/song/meme/movie clip with green this and Irish that.

It felt tone deaf, but I realized I could say nothing. It was my problem.

By the way, nobody posted about former Dodger Shawn Green, so I've taken care of that.

All along, I continued to feel this ambivalence. I couldn't even feel sad for not feeling sad.

I still can't figure it out, but something has changed. There's a foreign beast called "Don't Care" that has climbed inside of me. Things that normally impact me are either getting buried or just rolling off.

Frankly, ambivalence scares me.

Even here on the blog, it has taken until March 31 for me to acknowledge any of this. If not for my post of the day approach, I might have let it all just go.

I figure you've all heard enough about my old man. He was great. He was flawed. He was kind. He had a big heart and a huge smile.

But time also marches on, and maybe I just didn't want to mourn this year.

It's a day. It's a month.

Éirinn go Brách (Ireland forever).

April is approaching. Move along.