The Cruelest of Months

Unlike hometown boy, T.S. Eliot, I think February. not April is the cruelest of months.  February makes me think about losing my dad.  Friday will be the second anniversary of his death, and I have to tell you I still miss him so much.  I have come a long way from where I was last year in my grief.  Sometimes it is hard, but that said, I am trying to focus on moving forward while still holding on to the good memories.  

I have been so lucky (last years resolution) to be surrounded by so much love and support from my friends and family.  Their everyday kindnesses have been a comfort getting me through some these rough times.  Today I was surprised by a very sweet Valentines present from some of my nearest and dearest.  The gift though not expensive was so thoughtful and lovingly given, it made a cold snowy day in St Louis a little less bleak.  I got hot pink heart shaped peeps, Swedish fish, and a groovy salt and pepper shaker set.  I can only say as cruel as February may be, this little bit of valentine love made the month seem not quite so cruel and my heart a little less achy.  To all of you who have helped me get through this loss know how much it has helped, thank you.

I Miss My Dad

I miss my dad, I know that is not a surprise for anyone who has been around me of late.  Today it is particularly hard, today he would have been his 69th birthday.  My dad hated his birthday, he hated getting older, and he really hated us reminding him of it.  On his 40th birthday the neighbor lady helped me make him a blackberry cobbler and I made a big sign and put it up over the door so everyone would know it was his special day.  I waited impatiently to surprise him with dinner and cobbler.  He drove up in his big tool truck and got out looking up at the sign.  I saw the look on his face and knew I had made a terrible mistake.  The extra large 40, mortified him.  I saw him swallow his humiliation and eat my horrid dinner followed by the cobbler, my only success that night.  I never made birthday signs or cobbler again.

I think the birthday sign truly does epitomize the relationship my dad and I had.  We just never really understood each other.  I thought he would love the fuss over him, because I do.  Dad never wanted to be at the center of the party, he wanted to stand on the porch and drink his beer.  Me I love to be in thick of it, laughing the loudest.  My dad and I were just so radically different from one another.  I don't think my dad ever really had a clue what I did for a paycheck.  He also never understood why I would grow up to be a lesbian.  But like the sign he would notice the difference and then choose to ignore it.  He loved me and that is what mattered to him.

We worked at finding that middle ground and avoiding those moments of oppositions.  When we first found out he was sick all we could say to one another was how much we loved each other.  I made sure to tell him what a good dad he had been and how lucky I was to have had him in my life.  He looked at me with tears in his and eyes and I knew for once we understood each other nothing more needed to be said.

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Today I am sad, trying to accept my loss.  My life goes on, I  pay bills, go to work, knit, and participate in a world that continues to revolve ignoring my petty struggles.  I just keep looking for a place on that common ground, a place where my dad and I found peace.