10.25

I’m always a little reflective on October 25th because it’s a significant date in our family for a couple of reasons. For one, it marks the day that the Spouse and I went on our first date—a blind date—some fifteen years ago. Earlier this week the 4th Grader asked me, “Did you really wear a blindfold on your first date with Daddy?” And I had to explain to her that a “blind” date doesn’t {normally?} involve an actual blindfold. In our case it involved a coffee shop and an ice skating rink… but I could see the whole time. So, it’s fun to think back to that memory every year.

But, October 25 is also the date my Dad suddenly passed away—now an unbelievable thirteen years ago. So, it’s a day that is marked with sadness, too.

Tonight the 6th Grader will be in the first of five showings of her school’s Peter Pan production. Dad has been gone long enough now that I don’t consciously grieve his absence every day. But at events like the play this weekend, I do wonder what it would be like to have him there with us. How would he relate to his grandkids? What would he say to our “Lost Boy” after the show? It’s so strange to imagine him in a role he never played.

Not often, but occasionally I think about what it would be like if he appeared today and I was catching him up on all that he has missed these past several years. First there would be the general updates about the many ways the world has changed. He would be delighted to see new restaurants and retail developments all over town. There’s a Panera where the carwash he frequented once stood. We have so many things locally that we couldn’t imagine being here thirteen years ago… a Cheesecake Factory, a Costco, a revitalized downtown, new greenways and highways, and so much more. It almost makes up for the fact that they took away all of our Schlotzsky’s. I’d have to break it to him that somehow Donald Trump is President. And, of course, I’d have to explain how social media and these things called smartphones control our lives.

But once we got the basics out of the way, what I would most enjoy catching him up on is his family.

I would tell him that Mom is stronger than we knew. She is a good speech therapist and an even better grandmother. He would be blown away by her work ethic and relieved to see she can still tell a good story and find some humor in most every situation. He would see that she is beautiful in her sixties. And, he would be so proud of her and how she is pushing through these bittersweet years with grace and grit.

I would tell him that his kids are all three in the throes of parenting these days. It would be my brother’s privilege to introduce him to the daughter-in-law he never met and the grandson who bears his name. I imagine this would bring him unspeakable joy. They could tour J’s Air Force base and talk about what he plans to do in the law field when he gets out and moves his family to Birmingham in a few months.

I would show him where the rest of us live and work and go to church and school. He would be happy to observe how my sister’s two kids are calm and submissive while my three girls are high energy and strong-willed. He would hear me yell a lot, but hopefully he would see me laugh a lot, too. I would show him the girls’ rooms and their favorite things, from ballet shoes to scooters. I think he would get a kick out of their artwork and some of the stories the 1st Grader writes. I would introduce him to Rosie, and he could see I inherited his dog-training skills or lack thereof.

We would catch up, but I would pay closer attention to things I want to remember. I would ask lots of questions and absorb details about his mannerisms and ways.

At the end of the day I would tell him that parenting is the hardest thing I’ve even done but by far the best thing, too. And I know he would agree. And then I would remind him that we’re still missing him thirteen years later with what has become a familiar ache, most especially at holidays and major life events. But I would want him to know sometimes we just miss him in ordinary ways on ordinary days. I would ask him what he wants the girls to know about him that I haven’t already shared with them, and I would promise to try and keep more of his wit and easygoing nature alive—for their sakes and mine.

And then, I would tell him “bye” again, but more properly this time around. I would thank God, as we do every year on this day, for his life and love and the legacy he left behind.

And, again I would be grateful for October and its memories… and all the beauty it still holds.