My father has been dead for almost two years now. I rarely
think about him. Today was different. I found myself crying in my car as I left
the parking lot at school today. I’m not sure exactly what is going on in my
head. It could have come from the conversation David, Bill, and I had at dinner
last night. We laughed about the time that he nearly set fire to the house and
said that it was just some steam. Clearly there was smoke in the air in his
room. He had set off the smoke detectors trying to heat up an old piece of corn
on the cob which he was going to place in the freezer section of his little
refrigerator to defrost it. We joked last night that David needs to write a
screen play about what happens when Clark Griswald gets old and moves in with
Rusty.
Or, my tears could have been brought on because there was a
Jimmy Buffett song on the radio when I started the car that always reminds me
of Daddy, “The Captain and the Kid.” There is no doubt in my mind that when we were kids, Daddy
and I shared a closer bond than Delores and he did. I was the
one who always hung out with him when he was working on the car or tractor. I
kind of think of myself as that kid on his knee. If you are not familiar with
the song, give it a listen sometime. (Captain and the Kid)
Daddy was definitely a sailor, even though he got out of the Navy after
participating in two wars. I think he always wished he had remained in the
Navy.
I had a guest speaker in my JUNA class today from Greece. He
described what his village in Greece was like. They are poor. They didn’t get
electricity until the 1970’s and they still have an outhouse at his house in
Greece. He talked about the olive groves and the goats and chickens and his
grandmother killing a chicken from the yard to cook for dinner. It reminded me
of the stories Daddy would tell of his life on the farm in the 1930s.
Maybe it was a combination of all of that, but I really
began to miss my Daddy today more than I have since he died. I remember
randomly crying over my mother for many years after her death, but somehow that
seemed understandable. Her death at such an early age was so tragic. I loved my
mother with all my heart. Daddy’s and my relationship was much rockier. I felt
he didn’t keep up his end of the relationship. He was 90 when he died. That’s a
lot different from death at 51.
I don’t know why grief shows up out of nowhere, but I wish
it would go back where it came from.
