At 10 AM today, it will have been 33 years since my daddy crossed to the Other Side. He went suddenly. The last thing he said to my mother (when she came into the bedroom to wake him for work, where he had meetings starting at noon) was, “Is it that time already?” She said, “Yes.” I’ve always thought he was talking to the angel, not to her. And that her “yes” was somehow taken as permission to go.
We didn’t mean to give that permission, but oh well. Here we are in the year 2009 . . . that alone is mind-boggling to a child of the 1960s/1970s who thought we’d be living like the Jetsons by now. I hope that Daddy looks down now and then to marvel at what our semi-rural neighborhood has become, and at the technological advances that would have fascinated and engaged him, and at what we’re all doing now (just for fun). I think he’d love to visit again just to see what all has changed and how profoundly. He always liked that kind of thing (a professor, after all).
I’m up early and I’m going to take Mama out to the mall or somewhere so she won’t be thinking about this all day. We’ve lost touch with all my relatives on that side of the family (the last one we were in touch with went to assisted living and has apparently moved to another place without telling us . . . and Mama hadn’t been keeping up with the cousins . . . and I had been relying on her to keep up). It’s all rather sobering. Maybe we need to get drunk?
Anyway . . . today’s a day of remembering. And of trying not to remember.