my dad at my wedding, waiting to walk me down the aisle (march 2000)
I realize I've been more absent than normal on the blog this week. It wasn't intentional -- in fact, I sat down numerous times through the week, fully intending to create a post, but I just didn't have the motivation to go through with it. I've been feeling rather melancholy this week, and I know why.
Nine years ago today, my dad died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. He was just 44; I was 25 and finishing my student teaching at the time. I'd been married for two months and was set to graduate in two weeks from college -- after a tumultuous (to say the least) seven-year process that included dropping out, flunking out, getting pregnant, and getting back on track with a perfect GPA. In the course of just a few hours, everything I knew changed dramatically.
Each year, as May has approached, I've felt such a wide variety of emotions. After a while, the loss I felt on a daily basis became something I could look past, something that become such a part of me that I didn't even notice it, except at the most random of moments: when I'd hear a song on the radio and reach to call Dad to find out who sings it, only to remember that I can't call him anymore; when my Uncle Monty would laugh and I could swear it was Daddy's voice I was hearing; when Cami would make a comment and I'd realize just how much she is like him, even though she'd never met him. This year, though, I've been much more melancholy than normal.
Maybe it's the rain; I thought we would be spending tomorrow watching Cass "run for Poppa" at her track meet (and I'd spend the time unsuccessfully choking back tears), but it was rained out. Maybe it's that my grandmother just underwent surgery for lung cancer -- her third battle with cancer -- and her health issues are weighing on my mind. Or it could be that I have to spend the early part of the week at a staff retreat in Frankfort when I'd rather be home with my husband and my girlies. Where I'd really like to be is in Memphis this weekend, watching James Taylor perform at the Beale Street Music Festival. But that's not in the cards.
That's where I found myself just a couple years after Daddy died; my favorite band, Better than Ezra, was playing, and Chris and I headed down on a very rainy Friday afternoon to stand in ankle-deep mud and fall in love with BTE live. And it just felt right to be there, in that place, at that time. Daddy loved music, and he taught me to love music too.
To put it plainly, I just miss him. Every single day. And while so many other things about his death are things I've gotten used to, the simple fact is I. MISS. HIM. My dad was not perfect, not by any measure of the word. He had a terrible temper and he could be just plain mean; he said things to me at some points in my life that one person should never say to another person, and those words will never be erased from my mind. But they sit alongside wonderful memories too, like the sound of his laugh, the way he loved Cassidy so incredibly much, how hard he worked to give me and my sister the things we wanted (he spoiled us, honestly, in reaction to the childhood he experienced). I know that there are so many aspects of my personality, both good and bad, that are mirror images of him, and I've learned to accept those things, to work on the aspects that need work and to cherish the good parts of myself.
A month or so ago, I took some used books down to McKay's in Nashville for trade. While waiting for my order to process, I spent a few minutes browsing through the children's DVDs. I came across a copy of Quest for Camelot, which is actually one of our family's favorite movies. It's one that Chris and I will watch any number of times, and I think it has some of the best songs. One song in particular, "On My Father's Wings," always makes me think of Daddy; I'm sharing it with you today. I hope you enjoy it.
