Two years ago, sometime after nine o'clock tonight, my father drove off the Snake River road over a very high cliff, into the river and drowned to death. He would not be reported missing till the next morning, and his body recovered till the afternoon, and while most other family members were notified right away, I could not be reached till after 8 o'clock that night after I left work (my boss at the time did not allow personal calls of any kind). So I would not know that my father was gone for close to 24 hours after he had already died. As death anniversaries go, this one is hard for me because it is stretched across days and it always remind me of how much we will never know about my fathers last moments. Even my brother, who also died in an accident earlier the same year, and whose death I found out half a day after it happened, I still know when he died exactly because he was surrounded by his friends when the accident occurred. With Dad, we will never ever know for sure.
Over the weekend I was trying to get my head around it. Two years? How is that possible? How could time have moved that quickly. And yet I can see evidence that time has moved forward. I am nearly a year into a new (and much better) job. I am nearly complete with my AA when at the time of Dad's death I was 8 weeks into my first semester back at school.
Josslyn is 3 1/2 and in
pre-school. Rhea and I have started a business. So much has continued and changed in the last two years.
And that is just life - there has been all the dealings with death. We lost Grandma Edith and several long term family pets (Alphonso, Norton, Spunky,
Tuffie and two of Krista's kitty's whose names escape me). Not to mention the two years of handling Dad's estate that continues although there is glimmer of an ending by possibly next spring. This past September was the 17
th anniversary of my mother dying. People always say that in time you will heal. And I agree to a point. You most certainly get use to it. You learn you will continue to wake up every morning, that life carries on. You learn it is better to honor their memory by living and thriving, rather then dwelling in their death. But I also feel that it gets harder in some ways every year, to see those years tick by, quicker and quicker. It is like the life line you had attached to them is further and further away from you, there is no finding its origin anymore. And you fear just how much the edges of their memory start to blur. What is real and what is false memory? Mostly you just miss the hell out of them.
So, yeah, I miss the hell out of my Dad. There is so much I wish I could talk about with him that I am still learning who else I could possibly talk to about these wacky ideas and thoughts and observations that he would "get" and enjoy. It is sad to say, but I do take comfort in knowing others feel the same way. Dad (as is my mother and brother and others) is grieved for and missed by many. For example, an email from Brad (one of his best friends) sent this morning:
Subject: 2d Yortzeit
I drink to him.
26 November 1951 - 26 October 2008
