Today I drove my mom to the cemetery where my dad is buried. Strangely, there was little emotion surrounding the day for me. I was actually more interested in looking at the gravestones of other long-gone family members and the names of people from the small town where I grew up.
He's been gone for 20 years. She kept saying, "Wow. Twenty years goes by fast." It does and it doesn't. I can remember the events of that day as clearly as if they had happened last month. On the other hand, in that time I have gotten married, obtained two college degrees, and become a mother. The world has seen two Bushes, a Clinton, and Obama as President, two wars in Iraq, and a rise in global terror. Organic food has become mainstream and the Mariners went to the playoffs 4 times (Dad didn't live to see them even have a winning season).
June 7, 1989. He was 43. My parents had been married not-quite 23 years. I was 19. I've now been without a dad for more than half my life. I'll catch up with him in a few years. Mom has lived as much time without him since he died as she did before they were married. In a few more years, she'll have lived as a widow longer than as a married woman.
These are just the numbers. There is so much more to say that I just don't have the energy for today. About the words and the voice etched into my mind forever telling me that he had died; losing my mom when a part of her died that day; never getting to know my dad from the perspective of an adult; watching my 7-year-old sister grow instantly into a little adult, thinking she was responsible for caring for my mom. The list could go on. I hope I have the energy over the next couple of weeks to write about these things and others.
But for today, I'll just note that it's been 20 years.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
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