This post is for Jen over at Tierd. Jen and I don’t know each other in the “in person” sense. But we know each other in the blogging sense … so I find it appropriate to dedicate a post to her.
Unless you are creeped out, Jen :).
Jen has been writing meaningful posts as she processes her father’s death. For her it’s still new loss – less than a year. The honesty in her writing is cathartic for me (and for others dealing with loss I am sure).
While Jen’s loss is new, my colleague Leanne’s loss is further away. Leanne talks to me about what missing my father will feel like years down the road.
I’m somewhere between old and new. When people ask, I’ve started to say “I lost my father a couple summers ago” instead of calculating the exact amount of time. Sometimes it feels like he’s always been gone and sometimes I pick up my cell phone to call him. Lately, I’ve been having more of the “pick up your cell phone” kind of moments.
Probably because I have a son whom I named Eugene.
And those long fingers. I see my dad’s hands.
Then there was this Facebook comment chain between our old neighbors and my sister:
This week, Morgan’s daughter had the flu for the first time. When I read Morgan’s blog post I noticed that Lacy left a comment with health advice. I wondered if I could help Morgan too. I picked up my cell phone … and put it down.
It is hard to imagine my father not being the one who will get LEGOs out of Ridley’s nose. Sometimes I blame my dad. Sometimes I blame me for waiting so long in my marriage to have kids. Sometimes I blame Ridley for being so irresistibly lovable. I want to share his infectious laughter with my father.
But instead of getting swallowed in the sorrow that loss can trigger, I try to remember that I get to meet with my dad again everyday in my son’s hands. And my dad’s hands have plenty of talented, life-saving stories for me to share.
Thinking about someday telling Ridley about his grandfather pulls me out of these blues. Husbanks and I can’t wait to explain E. Ridley’s name to him.