Happy Easter, Dad. We missed you today. Megan hosted, and Aunt Terry, Scott, Jennifer and Joe, and Uncle Harvey all came in addition to me and Mom and Marc. We laughed a lot, as everyone always does when Jennifer is around, and no one said it, but I know we were all thinking of you. Your absence was a massive presence in Megan's tiny house.
Finding a moment alone, in the bathroom washing my hands, I stopped and tried to picture you there today. I could see you, hear your voice, see your royal blue sweater and your slacks -- you always looked so nice -- and we'd be standing in the kitchen, just the two of us, for a minute, and you'd sort of pull me aside and fix me with a look and ask me a question or two. Nothing serious, you'd just take a minute away from the festivities to find out what was going on with me, how things were. You'd talk in a low voice, as if we were conferring important secrets, in these moments, these exchanges of whatever it was you'd ask about -- work, my apartment, the cats. You made it feel important, our secret conference.
Aunt Terry told a story today that in the end made me laugh out loud, but I didn't hear the entire middle part. Sometimes she pauses so long in between sentences you can have whole dialogues with yourself in your own head before she picks up again, startling you back into awareness. You were the same way. You could drag out a story, a sentence, sometimes even a word, like no other. I loved that about you, and thank god Aunt Terry is still around to lull me into a daydream or two in between words sometimes.
Uncle Harvey decided after all these years that he needed to move into assisted living, which he seems sad about. This winter took his remaining spirit, and he is 91 afterall. But he refers to the other residents as inmates and refuses to expound on what it's like there. He misses you, I can see it in his eyes, that far off look. Listening to the two of you banter was a hallmark of every Easter and Thanksgiving of mine for the last thirty years. I used to love hearing the two of you go back and forth on the same old argument year after year, as if you were reading off of a script, both of you grinning ear to ear, basking in each other's company.
Walking to my car this morning, the sunny chill in the air outside hit me as the Easter air of so many years. Going to Aunt Ruth and Uncle Harvey's house out in Massapequa, Megan and I in our fancy dresses and tights and patten leather shoes. Walking over to the duck pond in the slight briskness of early spring, running and screaming from the geese.
You know, I hate to admit it, but there were many years during my 20's when I found it frustrating that I lived so close to you and Mom. Mom expected me home for every single holiday, every birthday, mother's day, father's day, it all added up, and I missed a lot of weekends. It seemed like a burdensome demand on my time, for a while, especially when I was working non-stop. And so I tried to argue at some point that Easter wasn't a real holiday, I tried to boycott having to celebrate it, I tried lots of different angles to get out of it - sometimes purposely booking trips that kept me out of town over Easter and then pretending I hadn't realized the date until after it was too late. What a fool I was.
I know now how lucky I was, Dad, to have all that time with you. All those holidays, all those birthdays. To think of a single one of those days as a burdensome demand on my time seems like the most shortsighted and stupid thing I've ever done. But so it goes.
Happy Easter. I really can't even begin to express how much I missed you today, Dad. So much. You'll be happy to know that in true Dempsey fashion we spent a good portion of the day talking about our various pets, showing pictures of our pets, showing each other pictures and videos of bunnies, and bickering about who could borrow various books and in what order.
love,
a
Finding a moment alone, in the bathroom washing my hands, I stopped and tried to picture you there today. I could see you, hear your voice, see your royal blue sweater and your slacks -- you always looked so nice -- and we'd be standing in the kitchen, just the two of us, for a minute, and you'd sort of pull me aside and fix me with a look and ask me a question or two. Nothing serious, you'd just take a minute away from the festivities to find out what was going on with me, how things were. You'd talk in a low voice, as if we were conferring important secrets, in these moments, these exchanges of whatever it was you'd ask about -- work, my apartment, the cats. You made it feel important, our secret conference.
Aunt Terry told a story today that in the end made me laugh out loud, but I didn't hear the entire middle part. Sometimes she pauses so long in between sentences you can have whole dialogues with yourself in your own head before she picks up again, startling you back into awareness. You were the same way. You could drag out a story, a sentence, sometimes even a word, like no other. I loved that about you, and thank god Aunt Terry is still around to lull me into a daydream or two in between words sometimes.
Uncle Harvey decided after all these years that he needed to move into assisted living, which he seems sad about. This winter took his remaining spirit, and he is 91 afterall. But he refers to the other residents as inmates and refuses to expound on what it's like there. He misses you, I can see it in his eyes, that far off look. Listening to the two of you banter was a hallmark of every Easter and Thanksgiving of mine for the last thirty years. I used to love hearing the two of you go back and forth on the same old argument year after year, as if you were reading off of a script, both of you grinning ear to ear, basking in each other's company.
Walking to my car this morning, the sunny chill in the air outside hit me as the Easter air of so many years. Going to Aunt Ruth and Uncle Harvey's house out in Massapequa, Megan and I in our fancy dresses and tights and patten leather shoes. Walking over to the duck pond in the slight briskness of early spring, running and screaming from the geese.
You know, I hate to admit it, but there were many years during my 20's when I found it frustrating that I lived so close to you and Mom. Mom expected me home for every single holiday, every birthday, mother's day, father's day, it all added up, and I missed a lot of weekends. It seemed like a burdensome demand on my time, for a while, especially when I was working non-stop. And so I tried to argue at some point that Easter wasn't a real holiday, I tried to boycott having to celebrate it, I tried lots of different angles to get out of it - sometimes purposely booking trips that kept me out of town over Easter and then pretending I hadn't realized the date until after it was too late. What a fool I was.
I know now how lucky I was, Dad, to have all that time with you. All those holidays, all those birthdays. To think of a single one of those days as a burdensome demand on my time seems like the most shortsighted and stupid thing I've ever done. But so it goes.
Happy Easter. I really can't even begin to express how much I missed you today, Dad. So much. You'll be happy to know that in true Dempsey fashion we spent a good portion of the day talking about our various pets, showing pictures of our pets, showing each other pictures and videos of bunnies, and bickering about who could borrow various books and in what order.
love,
a
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