12 Years

We've been so busy that the anniversary of Dad's death snuck up on me more than usual this year. Usually, with the onset of Fall, my senses remember this difficult time even more than my brain does, and there's an undercurrent of sadness, more pronounced, with the changing leaves. Maybe this did happen, but I felt almost startled that the date had approached so quickly, and even more alarmed that it had been so long ago -- 12 years. I will never be used to his absence and the boys are growing up with 2 amazing grandmothers but not a single memory of a grandfather. At their earliest ages, I saw them look with fascination at old men, like their minds were wondering "what is that?" Tyler now understands his grandfathers are in heaven and that he is very loved by them. He knows that "Blackwater" by the Doobie Brothers was one of my dad's favorite songs and points it out when it comes on a CD mix I have with it. He says "This was grandaddy's favorite," very seriously and studies the song intently, belting out the lyrics at times too. Tyler is crazy about music. He would have also been crazy about these 2 wonderful men, and there will always be a loss but they are with us and I get the most moving reminders of this sometimes. Yesterday, on the actual anniversary of Dad's passing, Tyler looked into a starless night sky, and commented "Where are the stars? They must be with the grandfathers." I was amazed at his observation and the beautiful timing. Now today, sorting through old computer files, I stumbled on a poem I wrote during the last months we had with him after he'd come home from the hospital. I'm including it here since it will likely get lost again and the memories it spawned are just priceless. Love you, daddy.

 What it is to Cry

When his eyes glisten

Unearthed beads from purity’s garden.

When his smile unspools,

Endless yards of goodness and grace.

What it is to cry, I know, forever changes.

Mom cozy in bed,

He next to her, the same.

Wearing his sickness with nobility,

A crown of thorns unnamed.

Silliness rolls from their lips,

Bellies swell with laughter.

Tick tock, the prognosis lingers.

But in their smiling eyes,

God’s word says otherwise,

And louder.

Lasting joy only obtained from surviving

The hardest of years.

It’s then we know that

What it is to cry forever changes.

A hand that squeezes can hold such sorrow.

Yet with this same squeeze,

The heart flowers to hold

Love for morrow,

That generations will feel with

A similar gesture.

Dad’s love, a river,

With no earth-given barrier. 

Some dear friends worked all night on this collage before the funeral (which included many more photos than shown here). Such a treasure.