I'm holding my Dad in my heart. He died 18 years ago today. Eighteen years feels like a lifetime ago, or maybe yesterday. Time is always weird though now, more so. Eighteen years ago, May 19th happened to be the Sunday after Mother's Day. My first baby had just turned one that March. Although he doesn't remember it, he knew my Dad. I have photos of him with my Dad -- radiating love the way he did, absolutely, unfailingly, even when it didn't make sense.
This baby -- now 19 -- told me he dreams about my Dad. And I do, too. Dreams blur like watercolors, melting night-colors into the reality we call day. Wait. Was he there? Was it real?
When I began this blog, it was dedicated to him. I keep wondering what he would make of this current world. Mostly I am glad he isn't here to see it, particularly the politics. When he died, he had been sober for 28 years. He was an AA guy and he loved the program. I know it doesn't work for everyone but it did for him. He had a drinking history with physical violence, something that those who knew him later when he was a therapist at a VA, might never have believed. When he met you, you began as his best friend. You had to convince him otherwise. AA transformed him.
But that's the thing about transformations. Something becomes something else. That's the point. We are all transforming all the time, though we don't always realize it.
When talking about the dream, my son described the age that he thought my Dad was. "He'd be 94, if he was alive now," I said -- and realized that even when he died in his 70s, he never looked past his 60s, the decade-bridge I will cross this year. He never looked old; he's eternally young.
My Dad -- like his father and two brothers -- was a teller of jokes. Immature, silly, often inappropriate jokes. I like to think I take after him. My brother, too. In so many ways, both my brother and I walk our Dad's path.
This upside-down world we inhabit now calls us -- calls me, at least -- to ponder these points. I woke up thinking about May 19, the fixed attention of dates. I think about my parents frequently; really, today isn't exceptional, except that it is.
And honestly, I do wish my Dad was here. I could use his wisdom, his unshakable belief that I can do great things. I have navigated parenthood without either of my parents. I aim to channel their strength, to take what each gave me and let my children know that they have great inner light and they are stronger than they know.
Actually, I know exactly what Dad would say if he was here. We would talk on the phone every day because after my Mom died, that's what we did. We would compare what we were hearing in the news, talk about how we were feeling, and what we're doing to cope. We would use colorful language, and when the conversation was ending, even with terrible possibilities still out there, Dad would say: "But I'm not going to drink over it. Keep hanging by your thumbs."
And that's the best advice I got for you today. Whoever you are missing, whatever feels lost. Keep hanging by your thumbs.
Peace
