Too Much, Just Too Much

The last week and a half has been full of too much death.

On a national level, Annette Funicello, Margaret Thatcher, those attacked by cowards at the Boston Marathon, George Beverly Shea, and on a personal level, a long-time bus driver from my growing up years and a long-time coworker from my previous job.

And this stirs up feelings of loss from my dad’s death almost 9 years ago.  My sister posted a picture on facebook of our dad with her kids.  It came up in my timeline today.  I saw his amazing eyes amidst all his bushy hair and my heart stopped.  And honestly, it doesn’t feel like it has restarted.

I see you in my dreams daddy

My dad died just after I got engaged to my husband.  He didn’t see my wedding, he hasn’t met any of my girls.  I have talked about him some.  He’s known as my dead dad.  Every time we make a chocolate cake, my dad’s favorite, Sue asks if it’s for my dead dad.  I tell her no, except on a few special days, but I think from now on, the answer will be yes.

Here’s our latest creation daddy.

My aunt, my dad’s sister, once reminded me, the best tribute to my dad, and what he would want me to do, would be to live my life, and I have, but today, I pause, for him and for the many who have died recently and for those who loved them.  May your memories bring you peace and healing.