Xanax For Sale

Story Corps made me weepy this morning.  That's not unusual, but the theme centered on this weekend - Father's Day.

As I walked around the shops and glanced at advertisements, they all reminded me of Father's Day sales, what to get dad, how about something he'll love, etc.  Lucky kids who still have their dads ponder what to get him, how to spend time with him, brunch perhaps?  Grilling?  All painful reminders. 

My father was traveling on Father's Day in 1997.  The family all made plans to celebrate and give gifts when he returned.  I painstakingly picked out two shirts that he really wanted.  Daddy was a big guy, so I made sure to track them down in the specialty big &tall stores for him.  But I never saw him alive again.  He suffered a heart attack in his parked car halfway to his destination, and he suffered second-degree burns sitting in that hot car in the Texas sun (it was hours before anyone had found him).  By the time we got there he was unresponsive and on life support, and we had to let him go.  After he died, we flew home only to find our much more empty house filled with wrapped and unopened Father's Day gifts sitting on the table.

That Story Corps interview was of a daughter interviewing her dad, and I just sat there and couldn't think of anything I wouldn't give just to have one more conversation or word with him, to tell him I miss him...  So forgive me if I'm bitter and sad this month.  They're just painful reminders of the empty space in my heart.

It will be 9 years this summer since my father died.  Some days the memories are happy and funny, but then some days it's hard to get the ache of sorrow and grief out of my chest. 

It's still hard to talk about him, especially to those who've never met him.  Whether the memories are happy or sad, tears well up and I breathe a little heavier.  How do you describe the most wonderful, loving person you've ever known?  How do you describe the sudden loss and the years of grief without your best friend?  He's the man who made me, shaped me, from where I get my stubborness, my love of learning, my compassion for others?   We all search for understanding, but I'm not sure anyone can ever truly know me without having known my father.

I didn't say much at my father's funeral.  I chose to read a poem rather than a eulogy, one that I read to him silently while he was unconscious and on life support that last father's day weekend.  One that pleads for him to not go gently.  And he didn't, as he still clings to me even though we're parted by death.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(My sister's fetus, that is)

A girl!

Another Ming!

Hoorah!

I can't hold it in any longer...

THE MING HATH SPAWNED!

No, not me silly. I am going to be an aunt! Yes, my sister and brother-in-law (well, mostly my sister) are preggers. I'm so excited about the little fetus it's ridiculous. Oh, and the fact that my beer belly is going to eventually look smaller than her baby belly.

I'm going to a wedding in Charlotte in October and finally looked at their wedding website...

FIFTEEN PEOPLE IN THE BRIDAL PARTY.