Yeah, that’s a word. Now it is, in any event. The anniversary of Dad’s death is next week, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t get me every time. Even when I’m not thinking about it, my brain does this thing to remind me. You ever been passed by something going so fast you don’t catch it in your mirrors, then it blows by you, and then you sit there going “what was that?”. Like that.
Maggie is sitting here on my mouse, again. When the weather turns, she refuses to sit on the floor. We have to put a cardboard box down for her, because cats are smart enough to know that cardboard is pretty warm. Actually, she sits on me. She sleeps on me all night, and wants to sit on my lap all day. It’s mostly fine, until JoJo gets the same idea, and I have two fighter pilots duking it out for lap space. It’s all fun until somebody gets cat slapped.
It’s drizzly outside, which seems about right. I was chatting to a man last night who said something about ‘your Dad’, and I said ‘he’s dead’ and the guy said ‘oh, I’m sorry’ and I said ‘no, it’s okay’, and it isn’t but it is. My friend Arlene had a tree taken down, and Ari will be splitting the wood later today. As soon as she told me, I said Ari would do it. Ari swings an axe like his grandpa. I mean, he swings it exactly the same way, same form. He was 2 when Dad died.
I grew up with my Dad swinging an axe. Home or the cottage, it was one of those things he did to wear himself out. We once discussed buying him a log splitter, because as kids get older and they have a little cash and they know Dad doesn’t wear ties, they try to think of awesome presents that he would never buy himself. It’s because he didn’t want one. We didn’t do it. Instead, I watch my son channel his grandfather and wonder at the miracle of genetics.
I’m speaking at a Probus group tomorrow. The room will be filled with guys who remind me of my dad. And I’ll tell them stories and remind them how important they are to their daughters, and how lucky they are to still be here meeting once a month and sometimes having to listen to a woman go on about how much she misses her Dad.
You sound in an introspective mood today. Funny that. Yesterday… just yesterday, I drove by the house up near Erin that my parents used to live in. Until Mom came home from a meeting in Toronto one night to find Dad sitting in front of the computer. Stone cold. She was gone in two months and has lived happily (sort of) in Burlington for 19 years now.
Sigh.
The old house in the country looks beautiful. But I shed a tear as I drove by it. Stopped. Took a picture.
Sigh.
Dad’s not there any more. You just never get used to it, do you?
The Probus group is lucky to have you to remind them.
We closed the door on our ‘ancestral’ home a little over a year ago. The new owners are lovely people. They’re doing major (much-needed) renovations and have said they’ll invite us over for dinner once it’s all finished. They’ve said that any time we want to go visit and just walk in the woods, we’re more than welcome.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back. Even though I spent my whole life there, it’s not my ‘place’ anymore. It’s someone else’s turn now to tend to the ghosts.
Oh yes, there were definitely ghosts.
I wonder if they’ve made an appearance yet.
Your Dad is with you always, Lorraine. His spirit and Love for you stays with you forever. Cherish all those Special memories that you shared together. They last a lifetime. Bob
I am not a religious person but I honestly believe something happens after you die. There have been countless stories from all cultures, ages and religions about near death experiences and seeing the “white light”. I have friends and family who are intelligent, capable people who will tell you of encounters with loved ones who have passes on. Your dad is with you, Lorraine, and your mother, too so don’t be shy to let them know you love them and miss them.
One thing we can never call Lorraine is shy. Brazen maybe but not shy. She met my contractor the other day for the first time (last day of the job) and after she meets him she says “you weren’t kidding” and he says “what? or probably I beg your pardon?” and Lorraine says: Roz said you were hot and she wasn’t kidding.
Not shy – never.
When my youngest daughter was 2 we went camping with my wife’s parents. My father had passed away about 8 months earlier. As we were walking to the “comfort station” one night, I held my daughter and she had her arms around my neck, looking behind. She called out “Hi Grandpa” so I turned around expecting to see my wife’s dad. No one was there. My wife said “Courtney, grandpa’s back at the camp site.” Courtney replied “Not grandpa Frank, grandpa with the beans” (a nickname he had been given by our oldest because he had a wicked vegetable garden.) My wife and I looked at each other, not sure what to say. She then proceeded to have a two minute conversation with him (she was only two, so we’re sure she didn’t make it up.) At the end she said “I can’t remember all that grandpa.” and then “OK… Tell Dad… to tell Grandma… that I’m… proud of her… and that I love… you all.” And then she said “Bye grandpa.” Then she said “I really have to pee.” But we kind of expected THAT.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re out there somewhere and I can only hope that we get to meet up with them when it’s our turn to head to the great beyond. It takes the innocent mind of a child to be able to see them once they pass. She did and said many spooky things until she reached about 3. Then it all faded.
I think little ones in general (although some more than others) are just tuned into more frequencies. It’s not so much that we lose the ability as that our brains get cluttered with signals as we get older, so we shut down some of the connections in order to focus more on the task at hand.
And then, of course, we enter into the larger world and are taught that such things don’t really exist so we file them away and forget we ever had them.
Cats, of course, are always fully tuned in.
Zena, in regard to your posts about kids and cats – my middle son, when he was about 3, began crying one day right out of the blue – really crying, sobbing and hiccuping. We asked him what was wrong, and he said “I can hear what the cat is thinking.” All these years later, I still think he probably could.
Holy carp – I wonder what it was that that cat was thinking to have made him cry so hard!
I feel you pain my dear. Hope you get on well until next time..
My husband’s first wife passed away in her early forties, collapsed at work and was taken off life support a few days later, poor gal. After her passing, my step daughters, who were late teens and early twenties at the time, had many experiences of feeling their backs rubbed while they were asleep and being touched, hugged, etc. One of the family dogs would wag her tail and cock her head to the side like someone was talking to her or patting her, but no one was interacting with her. The family went through a period of finding cupboard doors open when they had all been left clsoed. The youngest came home one night after a party telling us a startling story. She happend to meet a young lady who worked at the same place the mother had worked, but started after her passing so the two never knew each other. This young lady said they arrived at work one day and all the cupboard doors were open and there was paper, cups, etc tossed all around the place. A check of security reveilled no one had entered or exited the building after lock up the night before. We think Mom had a final visit. After that, all signs of Mum being around ceased for the family.
I had no idea there were so many Probus clubs in Burlington. I presume you spoke at one of the women’s clubs. I was hoping there was only one and I could sneak in to hear you speak but I got called to work (the nerve!) and subsequently discovered there are about 4 women’s Probus groups in Burlington alone.
We have OPRA groups in the airline. Old Pilot Retirement Association. It sounds so civilized to say your going to the opra.
I’m sure you wowed ‘em.
My son had surgery when he was four and a half. It was a day thing and we were with him in a waiting room, then a large male nurse came in, scooped him up and took him off to the operating room. I could hear him crying on the way down the hall and I was, of course, a big mess of tears myself. Then he stopped. I assumed they had gone far enough away that I just couldn’t hear him anymore.
In the car on the drive home, he was fine and actually quite chatty. I asked him about what happened after the nurse took him away. His response “I was scared and I wanted you to come, so I was crying, but then big gramma was there and she kept me company so it was ok”
Big gramma was my grandmother, he could never say great gramma and so the big part stuck. She had died two years earlier, he was only two and a half at the time and even though we had pictures of her around, I was never sure that he had much memory of her. I guess she took charge and stepped in when I couldn’t.
The thought of that always makes me think, and take care in what I do every day because I do believe that in some way, they are watching us.