Let's not forget...

"The only thing worse in the world than being talked about is not being talked about." Oscar Wilde

I wanted to write a post last weekend in honor of both my father and of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose birthday we paid tribute to as a nation, but I didn't get to it.  I thought deeply about what I wanted to say about the legacy of Dr. King and how we now pay gratitude for the enduring battles that he fought in the name of peace and equality, and I am thankful that his messages have prevailed.  I am thankful that his life triumphs were carried on by others who knew that his words were truth, and who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of all.  I opened my blog with this quote by Wilde because I am grateful that we continue to talk about Dr. King as a prevailing presence in the civil rights movement.  We, as a society, are still struggling with creating peace and equality among races.  Thus, we must call to mind the example of Dr. King to keep us aligned to that path, rocky as it may be.  And I don't want to stop talking about dad.

He was too much of a presence in the world not to be talked about any more.  I have not started a movement in his name, we haven't organized others to spread the word on motorcycle safety, or rallied agnostics to rejoin the church because dad was such a believer.  I have this little blog, and my family and our friends to keep him alive in our hearts and minds.  But I think more can be said about him, and it may take me a while to get it all out.  Perhaps it is only my need to keep my memories of dad alive, that he, like others who have passed, live quietly within us.  But living with a death, especially the passing of someone so significant in one's life, can not be so easily and quietly let go of, and it seems as if it shouldn't be.

My dad lived a tremendous life, and he, too, fought for equity, peace, and love as did Dr. Martin Luther King.  I am compelled by the challenge to advocate for those who have less and to give of myself for the good of others.  Dad was probably called to serve others in the special way that he did, as was Dr. King, so we can't exactly compare ourselves to them.  And there are many, many people in the world today who fight and give so that others may have and feel loved.  Grandpa lived by a more humble philosophy of just work hard and stay the course.  He didn't expect grandeur or heroism.  But dad exceeded his lessons, and strove for making more of an impact.  In the end, though, even looking back on a life that came, changed lives, then slipped away in a fleeting second, I know that we are all the same.  But what a wonderful dream to be among the few to be talked about, even when we are no longer around to change the world.

Dad travels

For all of us in our family, I would say that the dad "sightings", like finding pennies in random places, or noticing lids dropping in quiet kitchens, have diminished significantly over the past year.  When a person dies, those still living cannot help but remain in the senses, and we look for signs that he or she's still around, when really, I think that the one who has passed over exists far beyond what our senses can tell us.  The experience is so grand and transformative that we who remain are left to speculate and only take in a limited amount of information which we try and process intellectually or emotionally.  Dad sightings have shifted and become more like dad travels.  The thoughts that I have about dad enter frequently when I focus on my mother and my sister, and with all of the lessons we're learning in life without him.  I'm pretty certain that dad traveled his share given the countless losses he experienced, the tragedies he suffered, and with the many hands that he held throughout his life.  And actually, his presence in my mind grows quite strong when I write about him.  So, given that he exists somewhere beyond our capacity to know, and that we must go on living our lives, it seems to have become more of an effort to place my dad in the forefront of my mind.  The fact is that dad was loved by so many people, and through them is also how he remains close to us.  Is he just as close to all of us now, wherever he is, as he was a year ago when we "saw" more of him, or pondered that he was watching over us?  I ask this, I close my eyes, and he just answers.  "Yes.  I'm right here."

Dad missed his father very much when he was alive.  A few times, he and I, or our whole family visited my grandmother where she resided in Carmel, and he would share how much he missed him.  What I miss is dad's infectious energy and humor, his kind soul, his dedication to his family and to the community.  I think that we have great lessons to learn about ourselves, within our families, and about humanity, when we gaze into the depths of our losses given that we were on one path of life when he was around, and now we're charting our own.

On December 12th, just two weeks ago, my husband and I drove to St. Helena to be with the Hispanic Community of the Catholic Church to honor Our Lady of Guadalupe and dad, their precious deacon.  What they had prepared in remembrance of him was spectacular--they custom-designed a bench, just the right size and on the most perfect spot on the lawn on the north side of the church in front of an alter for Mary, and they placed a plaque on the bench with a penny that says, "It's a good day."  They had also arranged a collage of photos of dad from over the years which showed his love and devotion to the people of the church and to his family.  I cannot thank them enough for this gift that truly honors dad in a fitting and momentous way.  Dad loved to sit on benches, and he loved to "people-watch".  The bench is a perfect symbol of dad, too, in that people can go there to rest, to reflect, or to find comfort with another person, and these were a few of dad's personal favorite things to do.  I wish it was closer to where I live so I could make more frequent visits to sit and think of him.  But I will rely on others in that small town, and people from far and wide (how perfect, too, that dad made friends wherever he went) to sit on that bench and feel the love that was reciprocated from the church community to him, and from him to us.