St. Patrick's Day sadness

March 17th. St. Patrick's Day. March 17th, 1977. The day my dad died. It is a rough day for me, every year. Here we are 34 years later and i sit here blogging and crying. Some years are harder than others. I definitely don't feel the sadness as often or as strongly as i used to. Time does heal. I was 5 years old and i don't remember being told that my dad died. I don't remember that moment, the conversation. I remember bits and pieces of the funeral. I remember feeling scared and lost, not knowing what was really going on. I remember my mom fainting and being scared she was going to 'die' too.

I really don't have any memories of my dad. I don't remember my life with him. My memories start after he died. It makes me sad to know that i don't have those memories, those moments to look back on and say 'that was my dad'. When i think of my dad, i think of loss, sadness and a headstone in a cemetery.

My dad died from a 'single gunshot wound to the head'. I remember reading that on his death certificate. I read over that death certificate so many times. I can still remember the exact wording. I long for any information. I search for it, i yearn for it. Still to this day, i wish i had more information. I want to know EXACTLY what happened. I want details. I am not sure why i feel the need for this kind of information. No one is willing to talk to me about the details. No one will give me the name of the man who shot my dad. Boy then (16 years old), man now. Reporting on murders has changed drastically in 30 years. I have found 2 very short articles on my dad's death.

I know the general story. I know the story from my childhood. It is the story i was told, who knows if i even remember the story the right way. I don't know if i have added or omitted details.

My dad was at a bar with friends. He helped to kick out some guys that were underage. When he came out to his car, he found it vandalised. My dad and a few friends went to the house to confront the guys they thought vandalised his car (the guys kicked out the bar). My dad was shot by someone from inside the house, as he was walking up to the front door. a gunshot wound to the head. A 16 year old boy confessed and got off on self defense.

My question is: Did the 16 year old really shoot my dad? Was it someone else in that house? Does he think about the 24 year old man he shot? Does he think about the 24 year old's pregnant widow? Does he think about the 3 year old boy and 5 year old girl left without a dad? Does it haunt him? or is he a killer that has killed again. Has he gone on with his life and built a home with a family. Is he in a gang? prison? grandfather? happy? Is he all those things my dad never could be?

I miss my dad. I miss who he could have been. I am sad that i never got to know him. I am sad that my kids will never know him. I have no stories to give them about my dad. I don't have those memories to give them. I talk to my dad often, i just wish he could answer me.