I drove to work listening to Laura Ingraham talking about illegal immigration. I'm still upset about it since yesterday. But I got to work, found a good spot in the parking garage, and was getting my stuff together when a commercial came on that I've heard a hundred times before, about pre-arranging your funeral with the local funeral home.
This time an image flashed in my mind of the photo of my dad the church used at his memorial service, and I started to cry. Then I sobbed, right there in my parking spot, with a Carls Jr napkin clutched to my face to catch the tears. It's been ten months, and it hasn't hit me this hard in a long time.
My dad didn't like to smile for the camera, so it's hard to find a picture of him laughing. He'd just turn up the corners of his mouth a little, and that was the best you could hope for. We never knew why. It's just how he was. He was like his dad that way.
But, oh, did he enjoy life! The simplest things tickled him to no end, and when something really got to him, he'd fight to keep it to a chuckle, but he'd always lose and the laughter would win, and after a bit he'd have to pull out his hanky and dab at his eyes and say, "Oh my." He was like his mom that way.
And someone at my parents' church found a picture of my dad laughing, and that's the one they had on the screen through much of the memorial service. And that's the one that made me cry the most, because I miss seeing him laugh, and I miss making him laugh.
A couple years ago, after my friend's husband died while we were all on vacation together, she and I started a GriefShare group at our church. One of the things I learned from that, both from the GriefShare materials and from the other women's experiences, was that it's normal to be blindsided by grief just when you think you're doing fine. So I know my tears this morning aren't a sign of anything wrong. They're a sign that everything is OK.
Still, it was a surprise, and the tears keep wanting to come back again every time I think of Daddy laughing. I'm not going to fight them too much, though, because I'd rather remember him, even if it means my face isn't dry.
And down the road, on a day still to come, I'll laugh with my dad again. Forever.
2 comments:
Was he a shy, quiet man and did laughing embarrass him?
I know some of the guys in our parent's generation think men should be serious.
I'm glad you had the kind of father that it hurts to let go of. I enjoyed reading more about him. I hope you're feeling better.
Chris,
Yes, my dad was a quiet man (I never connected the word "shy" with him, though). Jimmy Stewart reminded me of my dad in voice and in manner, but my dad was only 5'7" and Jimmy Stewart is over 6' tall. I've always liked Harvey better than It's a Wonderful Life, because Jimmy Stewart yells too much in Wonderful Life ("Hello Bedford Falls!"), and it just sounds wrong coming out of a quiet guy.
I am feeling better. Tears are cleansing, and that's good once in a while. Thanks.
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