Days are passing...

There are many days that I long to chronicle events when I know that dad has imparted grace upon me or mom, or Tony, or Becky, when I know that he's been following one of us all day, or during a moment of despair or reflection. Both Becky and I have reported calling on him during a plane trip then returning and telling mom about it, and she tells us that he's been with us because she couldn't sense him for a while. Other times, one of us finds a penny in the most unassuming place, really, as if he has a whole jar of pennies in heaven and he manifests them at the precise moment that we need him.

I think that dad could do no more here on earth, and that he had experienced all he needed to proceed to the next bearing on the course. I hope that he's with his father, with our aunt who passed many years ago, with our little cousin who died but who saw the world as glorious the few years that she was alive. Perhaps our dog, Angel, is running around at his feet and our bird is perched on his shoulder (though Tweety particularly loved our mother :) .

Our little family is eternally grateful for all those who gathered around us the week that he died, and we think about how fortunate we are that you're in our lives.

Until next time....

Christmas

Winter purging has begun at our house. You would not even know that Christmas just occurred if it were not for the sweaters and shirts lying on our bed with the price tags on them, or the unfamiliar sounds of newly purchased music streaming from Tony’s stereo. It’s the second day after Christmas and all that reminds us of the day has been packaged up and is now stacked in boxes in the garage where it will grow cold with the coming days. I am hoping to grow warmer as the new year approaches despite the chilly weather. Life has been much too stressful, and the build up to Christmas took everything out of us, so we’re now on recovery-mode before the responsibilities of work seep back into our daily routine. But, mostly, we miss dad.

Time passes so quickly, and it has been just over four months since dad left us for the next life. Closer to the time that he passed, all of us who knew him intimately felt that he was not far, that we could still talk to him and he would speak to us through our heart’s disclosures. As the days progress, I find myself wishing to receive the secrets and bits of wisdom that I could hear him whisper from above, yet they are not there. Mother still communicates with him which gives her and us comfort, though it’s often when her soul cannot bear the next moment without him, and somehow she finds the strength to move forward. As I reflect on our first Christmas without dad, I find that I have most longed to hear his voice. Grandma Hilda even shared that she kept waiting for dad to appear from the other room and for him to engage with his brother in a lengthy philosophical conversation about God, or for him to grace us with one of his party-lifting jokes. We miss hearing him around us. We miss his hugs and his warmth and his profound understanding of life. We miss him.

Becky and I attended the 11:00 pm mass in St. Helena on Christmas Eve after sharing a Martha Stewart-inspired dinner with my husband’s parents at mom and Becky’s home, that evening. Beck and I arrived in St. Helena early enough to make a visit to the cemetery to admire the headstone that had recently been mounted at dad’s gravesite. We are most grateful for the U.S. Air Force for providing us with such a glorious marker and for the most honorable procession of his final farewell at the gravesite after his funeral. Beck and I found our seats in dad’s church somewhere towards the back. Both she and I looked for solace in this church on this night that we were to be thinking of Christ and his birthday. As soon as Father Brinkle proceeded down the isle, he spotted us in the crowd and comforted us with a glance and a wave. He mentioned to the Christmas church-goers that we were in the audience and that this would be the first Christmas without our dad. We tried to remain composed underneath our drapes of tears though they just kept falling and falling…we both kept expecting dad to walk out onto the alter and stand next to Father, and it was even more strange and heartfelt to take communion because this was dad’s favorite part of the mass. We miss him…

Christmas itself was lovely—Tony and I celebrated together on X-mas Eve, then we exchanged sentimental gifts with mom and Beck on X-mas day. I think Becky’s gift to mom took the cake—she purchased the original prints of cartoons that were drawn of dad in the local St. Helena newspaper (The St. Helena Star) each week after he passed. We spent the rest of the day with dad’s older brother and family in Sacramento where we delighted in a feast of turkey and delicious side dishes. But, ahh…it’s over, and I am so relieved. But most of all, I am anxious to discover new secrets about life, to share my musings about what life has been like since daddy began his new journey; I’m anxious to love my family as much as humanly possible, and to tender love to others as dad showed us how to do. Thanks, dad, and we hope to hear from you soon….