My Father: One Year Later

A self-portrait of my father. I believe he sculpted it while he attended art college.

One year ago today, on a cold Halloween evening in Bremerton, WA, my father Galen Gibson passed away.

I’ve struggled to articulate how I feel about his death. We hadn’t spoken in five years – a decision I had made, and not lightly – when I got word. The coroner, looking for a next of kin, had contacted my mother first, who sent them my way. I had to facilitate the cremation; the ashes and what few personal effects were sent to me. I shipped the cremains to a distant relative in Kentucky, where they were buried next to his mother’s grave.

He was always an ephemeral presence in my life. He and my mother divorced when I was very young, though he would occasionally visit. He was rarely sober, and he struggled with alcoholism (and likely other substances, though I never confirmed this) until his death.

He has untapped talent as an artist; in earlier years he painted on canvas, but later he could only afford colored pencils and marker on sketch paper. His favorite subjects were moody landscapes reminiscent of Middle Earth.

In a way, he is my shadow self. Artistic, flamboyant, arrogant, passionate, intelligent, vengeful. The parts of myself that I struggle with are echoes of him. He was genderqueer, although I don’t know if he ever settled on his identity, yet he always signed his letters and emails Your Father, Galen.

I both wish I had known him better, but also wish he hadn’t been a part of my life at times. He made life hell for those that loved him. But still people loved him. Including me.

In honor of his unconventional life, here’s a favorite song of his, one that, as a writer/programmer approaching 40 myself, also has meaning to me: “A Pirate Looks at 40”, by Jimmy Buffett.