One year anniversary

In little over a week from now, I will resume teaching and begin my seventh year as the inclusion teacher at the little school in Berkeley that experienced a whirl-wind of loss, last year.  I cannot help but pause and think about what I was doing one year ago, around this time.  I was preparing to meet new colleagues and connect with folks I'd missed over the summer.  I knew I needed to create schedules and think about how best our teachers could teach the students who I deeply cared for and supported, and I had to pack up all of the materials that I'd transported to my home which needed to get back to school.  

I had spent several days the week before August 23rd with my father and mother, driving to Carmel with my dad and eating with them at their favorite restaurant.  Tony, dad, and I had even gone to a baseball game, the "turn-back-the-clock" game, the weekend before, and we had a lovely time.  We all knew dad wanted to go visit Beck in Portland, so we conceded in giving him our blessing to go.  Mom got her hair cut and styled, that Sunday, and it wasn't before long that Tony and I were driving in shock to her house to deal with our loss.  

It has now been almost a year since the day that changed our lives.  So many tremendous words have been said about him, and we've honored him in different ways throughout the year that now to approach the anniversary day of his death, all I want to do is to be close to all of my memories of him in life.  To lose a loved one takes the breath from you for a short time, and you kind of wonder what to do with yourself once it happens.  Of course, our mother has experienced the loss of dad in the most profound way since he was her soul mate, and to lose a part of you that you've spent 37 years with is like losing yourself.  The fact is, dad made a significant impact on the lives of almost everyone he met, and this left a gaping hole in many of us.  

Mom, Beck, and I recently flew to Boulder, CO to visit friends and to meet with a man whom dad consulted with to help start a wine shipping company.  Mom also knew this man well, so they had much to share with one another about his growing business and about life, in general.  At one point in the visit, this man proceeded to tell us the story of how he met our dad and about how much dad had helped him make his vision a reality.  He talked about how many years it took of dad introducing him to clients and how much marketing they had to do before he made it big.  As he was telling the story, I could only think about how here was one more thing that dad did that we didn't know about that made him so important and connected to others.   A year ago, I was the one who called this man to let him know that our father had been in an accident.  He, like so many others who knew dad, came to his funeral that following Saturday to say good-bye.

It's hard to know what to do to tell the world how important a person is, was, after they have gone.  Moments are so fleeting that to do something almost seems trivial besides be together and tell stories of the person who has passed with others who knew him or her.  Everyone experiences loss, or probably will at some point in their lives.  We want that person to be with us, even in death, but if we can't see them, or hear them, I guess we must look for the little signs to remind us that they may still be very present with us.  We ask those who have passed to watch over the living, to help us and protect us from harm, and I think that that's an immeasurable task.  I think, then, we must just proceed in the vein that the greatest lesson is to love to the best of our ability, and despite suffering and despair and the pains of life that can be overwhelming, at times, it's up to us, too, to give pennies and peace, just as dad did.