eleven years ago today, my daddy died. every year i vow – and i try, i really try – to celebrate his birth date more than his date of death, but every year when 12/2 rolls around, i grow quiet and tuck myself into a day of extreme self-care, remembrance, reflection, tears, and love.
oh how i long to rest my head on his shoulder, to feel his arm squeeze around me and his lips peck my forehead. how i do long to put my hand in his pudgy, dry hand and feel his fingers close solidly around mine. how i do long to hear him tell me “everything’s gonna’ be all right, doll.”
doll. he called me doll.
i can’t tell you how badly i want to ask him things like what he’d most like me to know about this stage of my life and what is he most proud of and what did he write on the chalkboard in that dream i had about him so many years ago. i want to hear him tell me about how he and his brother gene built that house for my great-grandmother and about the time he got snookered by those thunder road-esque boys and hid from the police car by going up on the racks at the service station. i want to hear him tell me about the time i was driving nails into his daddy’s floor and how when he heard the racket and tried to get me to stop, granddaddy said calmly (and firmly) “junior,” (daddy hated being called that) “jeanne’s in my room now, so you just go on back to your part of the house and leave us be.” i’d give anything – anything, i tell you – to hear him tell me just one more time about the day i was born. about how it was snowing, about how he called his daddy at dark: thirty to say “we’ve got us a little valentine.”
do you have hand-me-down stories in your family? have you recorded them (and made backup copies)? if yes, fantastic. if not, what are you waiting for? go on now, scoot. you can thank me later.
A blew a kiss to your daddy this morning and thanked him for blessing me with you. I remembered I shared my birthday with him today. xo
And just when I thought the tear ducts were dry . . .
Sending virtual hugs and thinking of you today. I’m sure he’s somewhere smiling about all that you’ve accomplished and become. I bet he’s proud of you. <3
I feel your hugs – your virtual hugs and your hugs of words. Thank you, Sugar.
Beautiful memories my dear friend.
Thank you, Sug.
the anniversaries of deaths hold such power, and nothing we can do about that but accept it and take care and remember and allow our hearts to overflow. i loved these memories. xoxo
Yes, I’ve found it best to stay with the soup of emotions and memories instead of trying to outrun them. XO
What dear, dear memories. I think my heart grew while reading this! Love to you, our dear little valentine doll – what a gift your daddy (and mama) gave us all!!
Thank you, Sugar. Your friendship is a balm to my heart.
Owing to some memory issues I really have no such stories to recount so I live vicariously through others’. I *really* enjoyed this; thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading and for taking the time to leave such kind feedback. So many people don’t have memories – so many people don’t have good memories – about their dad. I’m one of the lucky ones.
Nuts to that, I’m gonna thank you now.
I need to visit you more often, Jeanne. Your gift with words and honesty are a wonder.
Well, I sure do feel the same about you and your writing, Mark. You are one of the treasures from reverb11. I am reconfiguring my google reader this week so that I can do a better job of connecting with the people who are important to me . . . and you’re sure on that list.
This is so beautiful. My dad died 11 years ago also, and what I wouldn’t give to get a hug from him, or especially to give him one. So beautiful. Thank you for sharing this.
No amount of time is going to erase that, is it Rita? Maybe you’ll tell me about your dad sometime?
What a wonderful remembrance. Thank you for sharing it with us, and many hugs to you. 🙂
Sugar, just seeing your beautiful smiling face feels like a hug to me. xo
thank you darlin! You always inspire!
right back atcha, sugar.
Jeanne: Thank you so much for your comments on the picklebump blog. I came over to check out your site and I love the piece about your daddy!
Thank you. I love that you are following your intuition right smackdab into art-making.