today my dad died. The last thing I said to him was, "Have a good day." And he had the ultimate good day cause it ended around 6PM hearing "Well done, my good and faithful one, well done." A day doesn't end better than that.
It seems like he's been gone for forever. I no longer remember what his voice really sounded like. What his laugh sounded like. This year, thank you Jesus, my mom stopped putting his picture on the Christmas tree. I get she wants her dead husband not to be forgotten, but I found it creepy that the dead guy was on my tree, particularly when the only other picture on the tree was a Christmas bulb containing a picture of my favorite two nephews wearing the greatest college t-shirts in the world their favorite aunt bought them. Pictures of dead people and alive people can't be on the same true. That's a rule and I'm pretty sure it's in the Bible in 2 Hesitations.
I don't remember much from that time. I remember Chi calling the next morning to make sure me and my mom were doing okay. I remember how light he felt, moving him from the sofa to the floor to perform CPR. I remember wondering what on God's green earth was taking so long for the ambulance to come and running to our neighbor's house to use their phone to call 9 1 1. I remember my aunt had the phone still in her hand, that she had been talking on to my dad when he died, when she my uncle and my other aunt came to pick me up to take me to the hospital.
I remember now that at the face of my mother's greatest loss, she was still a mom. She told me to wait for someone to come pick me up.
Sometimes my mom will say, if you're dad was alive we wouldn't see Jory at all on Saturdays because he'd be involved in some sport. She's right, but my dad was no sexist as the girls got old enough they'd be playing sports too.
One day, he'll get to meet the three greatest kids ever and instead of spending twenty or thirty years getting to know them, he'll have eternity.
No comments:
Post a Comment