This day…

this morning I overslept.  missed the registration for a 5 k I wanted to walk/run for work.  Bummer.

But, then I went to the park and walk/ran my fastest 1k and fastest mile ever.  Redemption, almost.

After deciding I couldnt deal with my husband’s family this afternoon I went to the craft store, bought a bunch of Fall stuff and visited my dads grave.  And it hit me, all over again, I miss him so much. i valued his opinion more than almost anyones, even when I disagreed, even when the dementia was taking over and moments of lucidity were few and far between, I valued what he had to say.  I can still, if I sit very still, hear his voice, his laughter, his whistle.  Whenever he wanted me, whether I was 100 yards down the beach or on the neighbors porch, he would whistle.  And, I would come home.

Today I sat at his grave and discussed these health issues that are raising their head.  Since they mirror the conditions he dealt with, I asked for his guidance, his help, a little intervention — to get me through.  I hung his new flag, I straightened the flowers, kissed his stone, and left.  I cant say I felt better.  But I felt that he had been there with me.  And I know he knows I miss him.

absent, sight and mind?

I put a wreath, and a flag, and a solar rose on my dad’s grave this weekend.  And, I wondered, as I shoved the stake for the rose down into the ground, why it is that every time I go to dad’s grave it is obvious that no one else has been there since I left the last time.  I take mom once a month, and I try to get there once in between our visits.  Not because I haven’t worked through the grief process, or because it makes me feel important, but because I remember the way dad used to tend the graves of our grandparents, and how he didn’t want anyone to think no one cared, no one missed them. I think that he would have expected, and appreciated, that I am carrying on the job == finding sweet little flower arrangements and that ridiculous solar rose to brighten up a rather solitude spot on the outskirts of the city.  But, I cant help wonder, where are all the people he helped?  Drove places, bailed out of jail, sat with, gave money too, built things for and with.  Seriously.  I dont expect them to all flock to his grave on a regular basis, but on Fathers Day or Memorial Day or around the Holidays, on his birthday or his and moms anniversary, wouldn’t it make sense if the people who supposedly loved him, who wailed and cried when he passed, took a minute and put a flower or a seashell or a picture, on his grave?

Now, I know not everyone is cemetary comfortable.  Probably because I went with dad when he tended the grandparents graves, I am a little more comfortable than most in there, but really, a minute to brush the grass clippings off his name, or say a prayer, or cuss him out for dying before you were ready to lose him, something people.  Something.