More like a “poof.”
Finding Home. Good morning from cloudy Vermont. My uncle Roger died several years ago. He played a positive, pivotal role in my life. His brother and best friend, my dad, died late Tuesday afternoon, March 28th. I get confused as to which man I’m grieving for. Dad’s death surprised the hell out of us, less like a long moan and more like a “poof.” Some people have told me that this was a blessing, but I disagree. I wanted him one more day, in any condition.
Dad loved me by hugs, by words, by teaching me things, and by building things for me. He renovated our garage so I could park my car in it each night and keep my head dry. He built our kitchen table, piecing together a secret message underneath with blocks of cedar. “I love you Lisa. Your dad. 6/4/15!” All through his life he created and invented, his forte being music. He gave me my first guitar, a Martin, and taught me to play. Together we traveled many a mile on our instruments.
Calling hours are tomorrow, and the funeral Sunday, which is why I’m posting early today. I tell my kids, who are grieving hard, that time will do the work and fill in our gaping hole, replacing pain with memory. That doesn’t help much this morning. I keep expecting that he’ll stop in for his cup of tea…
My dad was a good man, a good citizen, and a fine father. If I could snatch him back from Heaven, I’d do it. But I know he’s having the time of his life with his brother Roger at the coffee counter of God. I better not interrupt him.