Confession Tuesday
About this time 17 years ago I was planning my wedding and my father died.
It wasn't unexpected, he had been very sick with a series of issues since I had begun college. I would set goals for him in my mind-- if he can just make it until Christmas, if he can just make it until my graduation, if he can just make it until I return from Europe, if he can...
He died on a Tuesday, 9/15/02 & his memorial was on that following Saturday, the 19th. Since my wedding date was set for 9/19/93 which was the same date as his memorial I moved it to 10/3/93.
As I said, it's been 17 years since he died, but I still haven't gotten over it.
This may be a darker Confession Tuesday, but that's where I am today.
Something old--
I keep my father's RayBan Aviator's glasses on a shelf in my office that I turned into a little altar. I also keep a photo of him, which a friend thought was an old famous actor. I wish I could remember the name of who she thought he was. In the photo my father is smoking a pipe and wearing a gold (fake) watch. I still have the watch. The pipes are what caused all his illnesses and I couldn't keep them because of the pain they caused us.
Something new--
It's 17 years later and my father still ends up in my poems. If you would have told me that 17 years after his death, I'd still be grieving, I wouldn't have believed you. It still surprises me how much I miss him. My mum is 75, a healthy 75 and I can't imagine what a mess I'll be when it's her time. I've never been good with loss. It's a reoccurring theme in my poems.
A friend once told me "We're all writing about loss" and I think he's right.
Something borrowed--
I confess I still wear my father's off-white Izod cardigan. The other day my mum came over and saw me wearing it and said, "Is that because of what time of year it is?" Her way of asking, "Are you wearing that because the anniversary of your father's death is coming up?" My answer, "No, it just makes me happy."
Something blue--
I confess, when I am aware that it's the 15th of September, the day is harder. Usually I just try to scurry through this week without thinking about it. My mum said, "Sometimes you live your life like an ostrich." I can't say I disagree with her. Sometimes I do live my life like an ostrich, but there is something to be said about the quiet.
In memory of Gale A. Russell
(5-14-26 to 9-15-92)
~
It wasn't unexpected, he had been very sick with a series of issues since I had begun college. I would set goals for him in my mind-- if he can just make it until Christmas, if he can just make it until my graduation, if he can just make it until I return from Europe, if he can...
He died on a Tuesday, 9/15/02 & his memorial was on that following Saturday, the 19th. Since my wedding date was set for 9/19/93 which was the same date as his memorial I moved it to 10/3/93.
As I said, it's been 17 years since he died, but I still haven't gotten over it.
This may be a darker Confession Tuesday, but that's where I am today.
Something old--
I keep my father's RayBan Aviator's glasses on a shelf in my office that I turned into a little altar. I also keep a photo of him, which a friend thought was an old famous actor. I wish I could remember the name of who she thought he was. In the photo my father is smoking a pipe and wearing a gold (fake) watch. I still have the watch. The pipes are what caused all his illnesses and I couldn't keep them because of the pain they caused us.
Something new--
It's 17 years later and my father still ends up in my poems. If you would have told me that 17 years after his death, I'd still be grieving, I wouldn't have believed you. It still surprises me how much I miss him. My mum is 75, a healthy 75 and I can't imagine what a mess I'll be when it's her time. I've never been good with loss. It's a reoccurring theme in my poems.
A friend once told me "We're all writing about loss" and I think he's right.
Something borrowed--
I confess I still wear my father's off-white Izod cardigan. The other day my mum came over and saw me wearing it and said, "Is that because of what time of year it is?" Her way of asking, "Are you wearing that because the anniversary of your father's death is coming up?" My answer, "No, it just makes me happy."
Something blue--
I confess, when I am aware that it's the 15th of September, the day is harder. Usually I just try to scurry through this week without thinking about it. My mum said, "Sometimes you live your life like an ostrich." I can't say I disagree with her. Sometimes I do live my life like an ostrich, but there is something to be said about the quiet.
In memory of Gale A. Russell
(5-14-26 to 9-15-92)
~
My father died in 1987 and I miss him every day. He had 2 sweaters in his closet and a leather jacket. I wore those sweaters until they literally came unraveled and I wore the jacket until it too finally gave out. It made me feel like he was hugging me. I wish I still had them. I need a hug from him now and then.
ReplyDeleter
Losing a parent is something that stays with you forever. My father still grieves his mother and it's been nearly 20 years.
ReplyDeleteHugs to you on Sept. 15. A day of remembrance for us both.
When someone touches your soul, he will do so forever. Your tribute to your father was touching, and it is certainly a testament to his endearing spirit.
ReplyDeleteDark nights washed by distant rippling trees
ReplyDeleteand alien winds covering your eyelids, purifying
like everything, move on with splendid ease
leaving us a message: life will never cease
its sleepy course in vain
in order to attain
rebirth, since Death is not and Life is dying.
The heat around Time's corner waves a scent
for creedence revival of some virtual vampire
as deep inside. A force considered spent
returns from utter non-existence that was meant
to keep us out of breath -
Is Life both Life and Death?
Riddle of the Night! The Day be hot and dire.
My Poetry Blog
http://singleswingle.blogspot.com/
- Peter Ingestad, Sweden
this post is so beautiful. i should never have checked your blog before I ran off to teach! my mascara was smeared all down my cheeks...thinking of you and your sweet mum today...hugs...xoxo, A
ReplyDeletemy mother died when i was 17. 17 years later i don't feel i grieve as much but especially in may (her birth month) i can't help but think of all the years she didn't get to have. i really don't know what i will do when i turn 40 and 41. she died at 40.
ReplyDeletebeautiful post...