So the hour of my father's passing has come and gone. I swore after my tribute yesterday that I would not acknowledge this day until it was over. I have already broken my own promise so I may as go ahead and share my thoughts with all of you.
When we went home at Christmastime, the boys found Dad's old guitar in my brother's bedroom. I told my husband that I would like to learn to play guitar sort of in his memory. I already read music and play the violin so I figured it wouldn't be that hard. I kept meaning to stop by the music store and see what an acoustic instrument would cost but I just never made it there. This morning, seven months later and on the anniversary of Dad's death, my husband walked into the house with a guitar that he had purchased for a few bucks from a cop friend.
On this day of all days, right?
I couldn't help but think that it was a little conspiracy between my husband and Dad! His way of forcing me to acknowledge him and the fact that yes, I do miss him but that his is never far from my heart.
Each time I look at the instrument where I set it in the kitchen I think of him and it makes me smile. I even picked it up and put the strap over my shoulder once to strum a few chords. Of course, in my true graceful manner I also smacked myself in the forehead with it. Pretty certain Dad was somewhere nearby chuckling and saying "That's my girl!" I laughed instead of cried.
Last night Little Man slept over- that's what I sometimes call my nephew because even as a newborn he always looked just like a miniature man. His expressions have always been mature. He walked by the time he was ten months old, he holds entire conversations at little more than a year old (OK most of them are unintelligible but he is saying something pretty important! LOL) and he gets so serious sometimes that I have to wonder what he is thinking about. Anyway, since his momma and daddy both worked very late last night, auntie didn't want to wait up for either of them so he spent the night. It's been a long time since I have woken up to a baby in the house! There was something kind of nice about it.
Especially on this day.
A day I had already decided I would just ignore.
A day that wasn't letting me ignore it.
I met my sister at the gym, where neither of us really felt like being but we went anyway. The boys, all three of them, played in the day care room and we pushed ourselves through a routine we had absolutely no interest in.
The last time I saw my dad he told me that he was worried about me. As he slowly separated from this world, he tookt he time to think of me and worry about me. Apparently my little breakdown a couple of years ago after the last miscarriage was worse than I realized in his eyes and he didn't want to leave the world knowing that I was so stressed and run down. The doctor tells me exercise is a great reliever of stress and so as I lifted the weights I didn't want to lift and walked the distance on the ellyptical that I had no interest in, I did it for Dad- so he didn't have to worry about me anymore.
Someone once told me that everytime a soul leaves this world, another one enters. The birth of both my nephew and my neice so close to Dad's passing only tells me that it took two tiny souls to prepare for the loss of his great one.
My husband is a man full of trivia and historical facts. Alot more like Dad than I would have admitted in my younger years, he can fix almost anything, has an answer for everything and has so many plans and great ideas it would take him two lifetimes just to implement them all. Anyway, he once read that the American Indians grew corn grouped in close bunches instead of the rows that are common today. Since we essentially have a house built on a mound of clay, gardening has not gone well for us. This year he had the great idea to grow corn in a giant plastic pot on the back porch. People laughed at the idea I am sure and I knew most people thought it would never work.
Last night before I went to bed, I did my usual check on the corn, tomatoes and peppers we have growing out back. Tall stalks blew in the light breeze but still no corn.
This morning? There were at least a dozen little baby corns popping out, silk tops blowing in the breeze!
On this day of all days, life appeared on my back porch. Dad loved corn on the cob dripping in butter and loaded with salt. Summer wasn't summer unless Dad had corn on his chin and butter spots on his shirt.
Today my corn grows in his honor!
OK, maybe it was just all the rain that we had this week, but I don't care.
Between the guitar and the corn and Little Man, Dad was making darned sure I didn't ignore his day!
Yesterday I shared some of my most favorite memories and I mentioned how Dad loved to talk, to make his presence known. I find it interesting that even in death, he won't stop talking!!
I miss my father as much today as I did a year ago but I don't think that I mourn for him as much any more. He has made sure that he has remained a part of my life, even when he can't physically be here with me. He wasn't perfect, he wasn't Superman and he wasn't rich or famous but he was ours. His favorite hymn was Amazing Grace, he loved Stephen King novels and never missed a zombie movie. He adored his grandchildren, loved his wife and kids and was happiest riding his John Deere around the old homestead.
The world is very different without him.
Our world was great because of him.
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