Missing my Mom. Missing my Dad.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that half my family is gone. I’m missing my parents with an ache that I can’t quite describe.
I know how lucky I was to have a stable family and loving parents. And I know most of us will experience this loss so I know my feelings are not unique, but my parents, I think, we’re quite unique and what once might have bugged me about their quirkiness I now miss desperately.
My parents were married on leap year day in 1964 — my dad liked that the date was somehow just for them when it rolled around every four years at the end of February. He’d gift my mother some random present wrapped usually in newspaper or a semi used Jewel paper bag, complete with string he’d found in the basement. His attempts at a unique gift usually fell quite flat, year after year after year.
My mother liked ‘experiences’ — she didn’t want a ‘bauble’ as she called jewelry, she wanted tickets to a play or a dance performance or a dinner out at the newest restaurant — something to remember and talk about. She was always looking for the best place to get a piece of pie or to see the latest movie.
My parents loved to throw parties — mom naturally did the majority of the work but dad was the belle of the ball once the party got rolling. They were both connoisseurs of conversation, they could strike up a chat with anyone about anything. Some of my happiest memories were watching my parents work a room so effortlessly — I can see my mom leaning in, touching someone’s arm as they talked, and I can see my dad standing with friends, with a full belly laugh and his smile so wide.
I think what’s hitting me so hard today, on their 58th anniversary, is that they are now both gone. They feel so present, they are right here, right by my side, in how I live, love and work, but everything I write about them now is in the past tense. That’s the rub, isn’t it? Even though I feel their presence and their guidance so deeply, I can’t wrap my arms around them or watch them work a room. All I can do is hold on to those memories and grab hold of the next experience.
