I just finished reading a book last week called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. It’s
a story about a nine-year-old boy whose dad died in 9/11. He talks about having
heavy boots---which was the feeling he had about his loss. For me I connected
with that imagery right away. That’s what Dad’s death felt like- heavy boots.
Could we go on with our day? Yes. Did we do the tasks that life required of us?
Certainly. But there was a heaviness to our step; to our being.
We didn’t know how in the world we would ever get over that feeling
of missing. Something was missing… or rather someone was missing. Dad. It
wasn’t right.
I said my goodbyes to Daddy on Monday, the following Sunday
he left us. I have absolutely no regrets; we said everything we needed to. We
didn’t have any amends we needed to make. We were good. The only problem was
that I didn’t want him to go…I’m kinda spoiled that way, and usually I get what
I want, so that was a very foreign feeling for me—this not getting my way.
Dad did it his way.
His illness was quick, matter-of-fact, without complaints, very much
like the Down-Easter he was.
We didn’t know how the heck we would survive his death. But
Dad knew our family was strong and we would be fine. And the troops gathered
and we took care of each other. And we learned. Death, although most commonly
equated with finality and ending, was for our family a new beginning—and there
were many baby steps in that healing process. Ones, that turned out to be
bonuses that never would’ve happened if Dad hadn’t passed away. Ones, that upon
reflection, are kind of humorous.
For example, Daddy died on October 4th 2009, and
the first holiday to “celebrate” was Thanksgiving. How in the world could we
celebrate? That word seemed so wrong. The wound was too fresh. But the trumpets
sounded, the troops gathered in St. Petersburg and our entire family arrived. Jolee hosted at her house and we all brought
food. I had just learned how to properly carve a turkey from my son, the
chef—the way you get the most meat out of it…and it looks beautiful, so I was
happy to carve one of the turkeys…I say one, because we were so large en mass
that we needed two fat birds that day.
The awkward moment of the day was when we were about to eat. Who would
say grace? Daddy always, my entire life, said grace. Who the heck was going to
say grace? All of us, all 23 of us had gathered into the dining room and were
standing. Waiting. In silence.
Un-COMfortable!--Mom looked at Jolee, Jolee looked at me, I looked at
Randy, who was looking up at the ceiling not making eye contact with anyone. It
was like that old Life cereal commercial-Let’s give it to Mikey, he won’t eat
it, he hates everything! After a solid two minutes of silence, Randy became
Mikey…and he did a beautiful job of saying grace—no surprise there. And we ate, and laughed and had fun. We
survived Thanksgiving…it was just different.
It was the first baby step and we got through it.
Christmas was the next biggie.
I had begged Mom and Dad to come have Christmas with me in
Pennsylvania since I moved there in 1996. Why in God’s name would we go up into
that horrible-God-forsaken-cold-and-snow when we can be right here in paradise?
(I see you recognize my impersonation of Ralph Rogers )--Which when you think
about it, is a lovely way to feel about where you live.
So that first Christmas I got a bonus: Mom AND Libby came to
my house for 5 days. And everything we did was totally NOT traditional—pretty
much how the McPhees roll—but I wanted everything to be different for Mom so
she wouldn’t think about Dad too much…
So we did NOT go to church on Christmas Eve. Unheard of for my mother.
Instead we had friends over and ate and drank wine, and sang carols around the
piano, and my mother beamed. And the next day, as is mandated law in my house,
we stayed in our pajamas all day long. We never dress for dinner on Christmas.
Mom thought it was weird, but she sat there at 7:00 at night in her robe with
her hair done, fabulous bedazzled earrings and pink lipstick, eating dinner by
candlelight with Amanda, Nick, Josh, Libby, Andy, and Gay. The most family I’ve
have ever had at a holiday dinner in Pennsylvania! I loved it! We had fun, and
laughed, and enjoyed the day. We got through another biggie, and we didn’t just
survive it, we had a really good time.
There have been some unique moments as well. Like the day
that I turned on my computer and went to Facebook and up flew a message that
said RALPH ROGERS WANTS TO BE YOUR
FRIEND. What the…? They have Facebook in heaven? And Daddy’s on it?
Honestly, it took my breath away. I just stared at it for about 20 seconds and
then it came to me, my brother is now part of the digital nation. I must say,
that took some getting used to: Ralph Rogers on Facebook.
Little moments, little bonuses, hiccups of time where you
see something and think of Dad; that’s what I’ve learned to recognize and
appreciate. At Daddy’s first memorial service in Florida…and by the way, who
has more than one memorial service? Presidents. Presidents and Dad. So there ya
go. ‘Nuff said.
Anyhoo, at his first service, at the end of the reception,
Jolee came running, pointing at the glass wall looking out onto the water,
grabbing my arm saying, “Daddy…Daddy came!”
“What?” “Come look,” she says, “Manatees!”
Now I have been dying to see the manatees that swim through
the canal for years! Jolee brags of dolphins and manatees, and I have yet to
see them. Until that day, that is. Sure enough, there was a manatee floating
by, rolling around in the water. Ah, Daddy works in mysterious ways…
My compost heap sprouted potato plants in the spring. I had
not put any parts of any potatoes near that compost heap. Down-Easter and
potatoes? Please! Dad did it. Made me smile.
So teacher McPhee, let’s get to the point. The point is that
death is brutal for those who are left behind. And it hurts a lot, because
grief is an expression of how well you loved. And we loved Dad really, really
well. And everyone who is here is part of that love. And then somehow 22 months
have passed, and you realize hey, we’ve had some good times. I can’t tell you
how hard we laughed over a damn piece of chicken cuz I’ll get in trouble, but
we freakin’ roared. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. No, my heavy boots are
gone. Every now and again, it’s like …a leather flip-flop.
After my visit with Mom in June, she called me one day and
said the greatest thing to me and I will never forget it. She said, “Gay
Louise, I’ve realized something. I’m happy. It’s a different kind of happy; not
happy like I was with Ralph, but I’m happy and looking forward to living. I
think I will live for 10 more years.”
Daddy would be so proud of you
Mumma. And of Jolee, and of Randy. And
of me.
Thank you all so much for coming this evening and
remembering Dad. It means the world to us.
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