On the news of my father's death

An Aunt sent me email explaining that she had read my father's obituary inthe New York Times, December 5, 2009. He had died the previous night in Cork Co., Ireland. I did not know that he was sick.  Neither he nor his family made any effort to contact me about his illness. Maybe I wanted to say goodbye. He played no significant role in my life -- I don't see why his death should or would. Sill, he was my father.  It creates an odd feeling ... not really grief, I didn't know him well.  A need for affirmation?  It was not like he never acknowledged me as his son -- it might have felt good to get that acknowledgment from his family. I always had a fantasy that my father would appear in my life at some point and things would fall into place for us, things would all of a sudden make sense for me -- the kid who grew up without his father around. I recognize that as pure fantasy.  The times we did meet it was occaisionally awkward, it was always insightful, but no magic healing took place.  He was just a man.  We have some DNA in common.  I learned some things about my young childhood that were interesting, but no major revelations that would help me find my place in the world.  The onus was, and is, on me -- no encounter with my father was going to make my desicions easier. So, now that chapter is closed. I have a brother who lives not far from me.  I'd like to spend some time with him.