My Dad used to love to tell me the story..of when we first met.
It was back in the “olden days”, when dads waited out in the waiting room…
probably smoking cigarettes and pacing.
The Moms off somewhere else, having a baby.
He was waiting…someone was taking care of my older brother, probably his grandparents.
And the doctor taking care of my Mother happened to be an old classmate of my Dads,
at Loomis or was it Amherst?
Anyway, the friend, came through the doors carrying a tiny bundle
and introduced my Dad to his new baby girl.
Four days later
I went home. We all went home.
On my Dad’s birthday.
He said I was the BEST present he ever got.
I was born on a Wednesday and
His Birthday was on a Sunday.
That was the first Sunday of my life and it was his Birthday.
|me and my big brother|
And this is the first Sunday
without my Dad.
It is not as if I saw him every day. In fact, the last time I saw my Dad was April 29 of this year.
I know I saw my Mom 9 hours before she died, and it still was hard to wrap my head around.
My heart around.
If it could be harder, which I did not think it could be…it is.
But in the event that there is a reason for this…
I have been looking for clues.
It has been fun, putting the pieces of my father together,
his favorite things like the pearls on a necklace.
and I do intend to get back to that…
But I don’t feel much up to that today.
You know me, I usually try to be pretty upbeat, help others see the silver lining and all that.
Personally, I find it to be the best way to live.
Today…I just breathe…in and out.
and blow my nose.
I have been digging in drawers. Trying to find anything I can get my hands on…
his scratchy hand writing with the black felt tip markers….
an old email…short and sweet and no word wasted…
I will be finding things for a very long time because he wrote me a lot of notes
over the years.
Somehow, he knew they would come in handy and lately he had taken to
reminding me to
“save this…it will have a different meaning later.”
He was right.