Get Me To The Church On Time

My daddy's getting married Saturday.  I'm "okay" with this statement.  For the past few months I've been asked by several people how I feel about it.  Well, I feel okay about it. I'm a little fearful of feeling too much beyond that.  I'm fearful of opening my heart to feel emotions deeper than just "okay".  If I let one emotion through then they all may start to  think they can just waltz right in whenever they want and start banging around in my heart again.

So here's a little background and recent history that may bring this into focus.  My mom passed away in February of 2010. She fought a short, second battle with cancer and then she was gone. One thing you must understand about my mother is that she was an angel.  She was a living, breathing, walking around in the flesh saint of God. Truly. Her motherly attributes were manifested in how she loved her children.  And other people's children for that matter.

She was adored.  She was beloved.  

Mom in the early 70's.

And then she was gone.

Everything was different.  Every memory and thought of my mom was accompanied by a very real physical desire to throw up. My siblings and I all tried to comfort one another in cycles of crying hysterically, awkward sibling hugs, crying quietly, telling a funny story to ease the thick tension, awkward sibling hugs, random physical comedy, crying hysterically.........



Mom and Dad

Dad was worse off.  My mother died in his arms on Valentine's Day. In those moments following her passing, dad held her while we stood around weeping.  He began to recount to us the story of how they met, fell in love, got married, endured hard times, pulled through rough patches, celebrated life and children and grandchildren. Mom was 17 when they married and dad was 21.  He often says that they grew up together through their marriage.

Dad's grief was evident and tangible. Perhaps having a degree in grief counseling propelled him to attack that grief full force.  And he did.  We worried about him at times.  He wrote to my mother every night in a journal. He still may write to her, I don't know.  At my last count he had filled over 20 journals with letters and musings written to my mother. 

There were other events that made us worry about dad.  He grieved openly, and sometimes loudly.
It was often difficult for me to know how to offer comfort and solace to this grown man.  My stalwart, wise, emotionally reserved father sobbing for hours in his room was not a situation I knew how to handle.

Then he began to turn a corner. The grief was still there, (it always will be) but where it once slashed and gored and mutilated it now throbs and gnaws and pulses.

On a visit to my dad's house earlier this year he said he wanted us to meet one of his friends. I was thinking that it was a compatriot, a buddy, a fellow widower that he had found to play chess with or visit Civil War battle sites with, or what ever it was that old guys like to do.

I was genuinely surprised when he said "It's a lady friend". And then we were off to meet her at a Cracker Barrell halfway between his house and hers.



To Be Continued...........