Dear Jane,
 |
| Dad, my Betsy girl and I |
My boys are squirreled away making last minute Fathers Day preparations. I can hear through the wall the plotting and planning..."I think we should wake him up early." "No, he'll want to sleep in. I would." "McKay, do you know how to make shrimp? Dad loves shrimp." "No, I'm shaky on shrimp making...But, I can make flapjacks. What do you guys think about flapjacks?" "What about shrimp flapjacks McKay? He'd REALLY like those?"
Fathers Day has become such a bittersweet Holiday for me. As I am certain it is for many. I lost my Dad to suicide on March 7, 1989. I was Thirteen. And even still....all these years later, it feels like an out of body experience giving voice to such a pivotal, life changing day. I took my boys to Salt Lake yesterday to visit my old stomping ground as well as my Dads grave. We pulled the overgrown grass surrounding his headstone and left a pile of carefully selected pinecones gathered by his Grandsons hands. And even in the midst of walking the grounds in search of pinecones I had a mental conversation with myself: "Did this really happen? Did my Dad truly die?"...And, I suppose, there is a "yes" and a "no" attached to that later question. Yes, my Dad did, in fact die... but he is still very much alive. He is in McKays love affair with flapjacks covered in peanut butter and maple syrup, in Sampsons quick wit and appreciation of music, In the way Adler laughs and claps at the same time and in Ollies insatiable love for books and answers to life's riddles. I need only look within the walls of my own home to find that which was never truly lost.
"Goodnight, sleep tight,
and pleasant dreams to you.
Here's a kiss and a wish
that all your dreams
come true. Until
we meet once again...
Adios, au revoir,
auf wiedersehen.
Goodnight." (Sung each night
to me and my siblings by my
Mom and Dad).
Dreamwishes to you,
-Sara
No comments:
Post a Comment