My first thanksgiving in New York. Strange. I’m flying solo, but I kind of feel that’s right. I can’t help but think about what my dad’s last thanksgiving must have been like. Alone. Wandering. I don’t want to be too maudlin, maybe it’s just one of those weeks (months? Years? Definitely one of those years right?!)
I’m not sleeping well. My mind is in a million places at once. I’m drowning in papers and research that at face value seems to be headed nowhere fast. I guess the inside of my head is a perfect reflection of what it feels like in the city right now. A constant state of dazed and confused. My nights feel like I’m awake every half an hour and my days feel like I’m sleep walking through them. Split down the middle in all the wrong ways. Even my Spotify playlists are schizophrenic, lurching from angry Beyoncé to calming Debussy to the heavier end of Muse.
I had the dream again. My dad carrying me down a long corridor. I can’t see his face but I know it’s him. The dream gives me such an odd sensation. I feel at once safe and at the same time there’s this sense of loss. It sort of spurred me into a bit of Sullivan Green research. Research that entails rereading the notes of what Mr Wallace told me, the records he kept while my father was travelling the world, and endless annoying phone calls from me to follow up on those notes and records at all hours of the night.
I know he was around when I was born. I mean, I don’t remember as such, but I remember being told we were all together. I remember Auntie Mon saying that he left shortly after. But I’m sure she said he never abandoned us. It wasn’t like he was running away from his responsibilities. I remember she said that he had to go but that he came back a couple of times. Once when I was only months old. And once before my mom died. He could’ve come back other times but that last time, when he took me to Ireland (I assume), I’m pretty sure that time’s connected to the dream.
I’ve been told that mum had died in the US and that’s when I came to Ireland, so that rings true, but who knows… Mon has told me different versions of events, sort of like when people can’t remember which version of a lie they told? But why would she make stuff up? The more I think about it the further away I seem to be from certainty. I’m going to make a list of questions for her to see if I can get it all straight.
I’ll carry on with my digging though. This feels important. I mean, I know the work is important, but it feels like it goes beyond that. I want to make sure that I’m building the right company. I want to be putting good into the world. I’m sure that’s what my dad would have wanted. The Ackerly Green books I have don’t seem to fit that mould just yet. Maybe when I find the others the first two will make more sense. I want to make him proud. I want to honour his legacy. I just need to be a little clearer on what that legacy is!
ALSO: I thought it would be fun to register @AckerlyGreen on social media… but they’re registered already. Who would want them beside me? I emailed them, we’ll see.