I rearranged a blue gazillion books in my library on Father’s Day. I figured it was best to keep busy on a day that began with enormous gulps of repressed sorrow. I discovered that work really doesn’t take your mind off things; it merely inserts random and obscure thoughts in between moments of memory. I know that grief is different for everyone.
My grief, for the most part, has been immersed in activity. School started right after Daddy died, and I let seventh graders apply the balm of youthful exuberance to my life.
Then, I took a class that the state said I needed, and dove into reams of paper, Powerpoints galore, tests that took my breath away, and a final that would have scared the most seasoned student. I’ve journaled, I’ve walked, I’ve read, I’ve drawn, I’ve contemplated the past and the future, and I still miss him more than any word can express.
When you truly love someone, their absence does nothing to alter your longing for them. I wondered silently yesterday if anyone would miss me when I leave as much as I miss him.
It isn’t so much that I miss his physical form. He was never a very demonstrative person, in terms of affection, unless you count my mother. What I truly miss is the voice. It was bigger than life, and wise. He seldom spoke unless he was making a point. When he spoke, you listened. If he said, “Let me add,” you better believe that whatever he was going to say mattered.
He didn’t waste any words. If one came out of his mouth, it was bound to be important. He used to joke with us that he didn’t speak much because all the women in the house stole all the air and he was in a life-long struggle for breath and had to choose his words carefully. We laughed at that, but I find myself wishing I’d talked less and listened more. So, when the phone rang the other day and caller ID announced, “Call from Jim Necessary,” my heart stopped briefly.
I had my hands in dish water when the call came through. It was 8:30 a.m., and when I picked the phone up I realized it was his cell number ringing my house. So many things went through my mind when I heard his name.
I pressed talk, and heard my mother on the other end of the line. I realized she had picked up Daddy’s cell phone instead of hers. In my heart, I knew it was just a coincidence, but in my soul it was a gift to hear his name fill the space where I was standing. I got to thinking about what he’d have to say after being gone a year and here is what I imagined.
“Debra?”
“Yes.”
“I bet your knees are like Jell-O hearing from your old Dad like this.”
“For certain, how are you Daddy?”
“Oh, I’m fine as frog’s hair. You?”
“Well, I miss you every day.”
“I think that is normal.”
“Is it wonderful there, Daddy?”
“You bet! Just wait until you see what is waiting for you here. If I had known, I’d have tried to get here sooner.”
“Well, I wish you’d waited a while longer.”
“Nah, when time’s up, it’s up, just like the good book says, my days were numbered like the hairs on my head. You did notice I had fewer and fewer of those. Didn’t you?”
“Do you miss me, Daddy?”
“Well, I miss all of you, but time here is a strange thing. It’s eternal and it’s also shorter than a gnat’s eyelash. You don’t really have any awareness of time. No need for a watch. No schedules. No deadlines. It’s truly a marvelous thing.”
“Are you well, Daddy?”
“Oh, yes! I can see clearly, hear distinctly, I have no pain, no tears, no frustration, and I don’t need a single shot, pill, spray, cream, or powder. I think before I left there I was a walking billboard for Big Pharma. The pharmaceutical business doesn’t exist here. You can call Mac up and tell him I told you so. Tell him next time I see him, he’ll be broke.” (Belly laugh)
“I see your sense of humor is still intact.”
“Oh, yeah. We actually build things out of laughter here.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and while I have you on the phone, let me say this. You need to lighten up. Everybody down there is missing your laughter. There is not a single reason for you to be sad. You are not allowed to be sad for the rest of your days just because I am not there. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir, I hear you.”
“So let’s get this turned around, little lady. I’ve got a corker of a joke your Nanny told me.”
“Nanny?”
“Yep, she’s up here cracking everybody up. Listen, I need to go. There’s a concert here in a few. Those kids sing like angels, I tell you. I’ll miss you until I see you. I love you forever.”
“You, too, Daddy. You, too.”
