chapter XVII

Dad, seven months later

Status: 8:41PM; baby in bed for about an hour now.  Chicken stock on the stove (just cuz).  Pasta makings also on the stove (waiting for the husband to get home to truly fire that up).  East India Pale Ale.

So what to talk about?  How about Dad.  Seven months later.  Seven months since he died. 

I will admit, I feel weird writing about this because some readers might say "enough already!"  Or something like that.  But this is my blog and I will write what I want to (just had to say that).

So what is it like, to be 37 and be done with having your dad alive in your life?

First off, people are extraordinarily gracious for the first several weeks.  Then, nothing.  They are not rude, but nobody really asks "Hey, how are you doing with having lost your dad?"  I know that people would listen if I brought it up, but sometimes it's nice to be asked.  I am not bitter about this - I am not sure I knew before this that it's nice to have someone ask about it.

You know that flash you get when you remember to call someone?  I get that.  And in an instant, I say "oh right.  can't do that anymore."  it does not hurt in a painful way; rather, in a teary way.  I just miss him.  Plain and simple.  The night of the six month anniversary was bad.  I relived the evening as the time approached when he had died.  I am not excited to get to the one year point, but I am excited to get beyond it.

I have an unusual interest in death and what it's like to die.  Don't get all crazy now, I am not interested in it for bad reasons - just really want to know what happens.  I think he knew.  He said some things that night to my mom and to the nurse that suggest he knew.  He did a few things that suggest he knew.  We will never know I suppose, until, well, you know.

I found I wanted to know everything about him.  I had so many unanswered questions.  those questions remain.  if your parents are alive, get a book titled Legacy and ask lots of those questions.  document your time.  you will be happy you have it later.  We have a few recordings of his voice.  We have 30 years of sermons.  I am not ready to let any of those items go.  We have tons (I do mean TONS) of his handwritten notes.  I treasure those.  I carry something with me at all times that he carried with him. 

I still cry.  It does not last long, so if you are talking to me and I cry don't be alarmed.  It's not that dramatic.  Just a few tears here and there.

For the most part I am increasingly grateful to have what we have - notes, recordings, memories. It's a duller pain and in some ways, more wonderful than I imagined.  It's something I choose to allow - I don't fight it.  I like remembering him.  I love talking about him.  I have lots of laughs about him.  I can still hear his voice in my head.  I have not had one of those experiences people say they have when they "sense" someone.  I have not stepped into a church since he died.  Not sure I can go there yet.  I remember vividly the hymn that played at his funeral and I hum it to myself often.  I was bummed the other day when I heard a wonderful piece of music which I could not identify...it was at a time like that when I would have called him and asked what it was.  Like a game...he would have had the composer, the work, the pianist and maybe after a minute or two, the precise recording for me.  That was my dad.

I am going to write more about him over time.  It helps me remember things that I want to share with my daughter.  And, for me, it's simply nice to remember. 

Great Gift Idea

I meant to write about this a while ago but forgot!  So here we go - if you are looking for a great gift to give new parents, have I got an idea for you.  New parents get many wonderful gifts - books, blankets, clothes.  We got to know our UPS guy personally after Avery was born. 

And then a friend sent us an email basically saying "Call this number, our treat."  So we called the number and wouldn't you know it but it was a personal chef on the other end of the line.  Our friends had hired her to come and cook for us one night, to celebrate the arrival of our daughter.  How fabulous is THAT. 

We talked to her about food likes (many) and dislikes (few), favorite meals of all time, and other particulars to give her some ideas.  And then, she arrived at our house one evening after we had put Avery down and calmly started to set up.  She set the table, arranged the kitchen, and poured us glasses of wine.

She proceeded to serve us a delicious four course meal including watercress soup with white asparagus, red snapper, quail and a rhubarb tart.  She cooked, served the meal and cleaned up the kitchen.  She was quiet as a church mouse and cooked like a fiend. 

It was heaven.  We had not been out in weeks, had a little anxiety about leaving as we had not yet hired a babysitter with whom we were comfortable and were hankering for a nice evening with real food - prepared by someone else. 

I don't think it is the cheapest gift, but I would definitely do this for someone else - maybe go in on it with other people - because it was different, in line with just what we needed, memorable and a huge treat.  Here are a few pictures from the evening:

 

Dear Avery, snippets of an evening at home...

That is, Home with a capital H...the home where my parents, your grandparents, live...

8:30PM, after dinner.  In the library, watching Peyton Place.  Mom and Dad on the couch. 

Dad: "I remember the first time I saw this, I was in Louisville Kentucky about to leave for Europe.  I had just finished basic training at Fort Knox."

"YOU did push ups."

"Yes.  Don't look so SHOCKED.  Where are my glasses..."

Yup, my classical-music loving, never exercising father did basic training at none other than, FORT KNOX.  In typical, Tom Dixon fashion, he got himself a swanky Army desk job in Paris (not bad for a book wormy, food loving, romantic French major from Ohio).  Yes, Paris, a place your father and I will take you one day, and then you will go again and learn it for yourself, on your own terms. 

Mom is knitting.  "What are you knitting?' "An afghan for friends for Christmas."  Yes, your grandmother knows how to knit, sew, stitch...CREATE.

"What the hell was her name...the actress...she had a very short movie career..."

"We used to watch Peyton Place at the Kappa House in the 60s."  (Yep, your grandmother was an AVID Kappa Kappa Gamma, and your great grandmother. I was not.  Maybe you will be.)

"OH one of my favorite old tunes!  You'll never know!" 

Avery, and so the conversation goes.  Your grandparents trade memories of actors and actresses, with a wild ability to recall facts, figures and stories about these people they feel the grew up with.

You, sweet pea, are at home with your dad.  I am here helping out with a few things...and, well, spending time.  These notes are nothing fancy, but they portray a pretty typical scene here at Home, that I will miss one day, and that I wish you could see.