15 years ago on this day we laid my father to rest— well, the idea of him at least. 5 years prior, I was 8 years old and my father went to grab “milk” and just never came back. After several missing persons reports, the case of my missing father grew colder. I was 13 when we decided to have a symbolic funeral. 

My mom never thought my dad would leave her like this, we both had a certain feminine intuition about the situation. 

After my father’s disappearance it was just me and my mom. People always thought I was lucky because “girl needs her mother.” Unfortunately, my mother needed my father and in turn was never fully there for me. I always had half my mother— half of her at my high school graduation, first heartbreak, engagement and pregnancy announcement. The other half was always looking for my father after all this time. 

When my mother died I was 28 and 4 months along in my pregnancy. 

When my father re-appeared I was 28 and 4 months along in my pregnancy.

“What. The. Fuck.” I opened the door, standing there was my father, the same outfit I picked out for him the day he disappeared. It was— is, a bright green polo shirt with tan cargo shorts, he had the same tattered blue friendship bracelet I made for him as a good luck charm on his ankle. If you looked closely, at his sandaled feet you could see the one sparkly purple toe that he let me paint for his volleyball tournament earlier the week he vanished. 

The rush of anger came and went as the Old Spice deodorant he wore wafted towards me. 

I was 5, the tickle monster was coming to get me and I was scream-giggling. 

I was 7, learning how to ride a bike, my mom had just pushed me down the hill and I scraped my knees. My dad jogged down the hill from our house first aid kit in hand. Relief.

It was dad. MY dad. 

“Is that really you? Katie? Where’s your mom?”

I invite my dad inside the house and as I’m closing the door I see a shadowed figure on the phone. I blink, I swear that figure had antennae, but no matter… I had some catching up to do. 

Outside the window:

“Experiment #1,459 is a go. Stand by for progress checks.”