October 14

Today is October 14^th. The anniversary of my father's death. Not really a day of mourning anymore, although sometimes I will mourn what was. Most years, this is a day of reflection.

I go to his grave. Sometimes I sit, others I stand. Sometimes I'm there for only long enough to clean off the headstone, other times I'm there for almost an hour. Sometimes I actually speak out loud to him. I make jokes, and yes, I know I sound loony. :) It's just something that I do every Father's Day and fourteenth of October. I know that I'm not the only one of the kids visiting... sometimes there's a rose laying on the headstone. A sure sign that my favorite (and only) sister has been there.

I'll often sit there and look at the dates: February 13, 1936 -October 14, 1976. I always do math in my head. * 29 when he married .... He was 31 when I was born... 32 when "the perfect one" arrived ... 34 when my sister made her appearance ... and 36 when younger brother got here.... I'm (insert age ...37 this year) and no kids .... 40 when he died .... damn, I'm closing in on him there* Sometimes I'm depressed by the numbers, but not that often. Mostly, it's just time to reflect on my life and his.

Johhny Cash songs will go through my head most of the time I'm there. Sometimes I'll sing them to myself. Dad was a huge fan of Cash, and that's but one of the reasons that Cash meant so much to me. Harvey had asked, rather, told me that I should do a post on why Cash meant so much to me. I've tried. I've honestly tried. I just hasn't felt right yet. Maybe later on.

Thought I would show you something that my aunt had written for one of her classes. There are a few time that I hate this, and most where I sit back and admire it. Always in awe of how she nailed her, and others', feelings that day 28 years ago.

October 14^th

I remember that day when the telephone rang; a woman's voice announced there was an accident
you were not breathing

I jumped into the station wagon praying it can't be, it can't be
two miles seemed like an eternity

someone told me what happened that morning the monstrous machine fell on you piercing your brain
but I knew that you'd be alright

everyone rushed to the hospital but I stayed wandering aimlessly
trying to understand

I love the cornucopia fields the trees that huddled your home
the brook that rippled sinuously

I walked past the milkhouse where you poured warm milk from the cows each morning and night
sometimes spilling the white liquid
multitudes of cats and kittens would lap with soft pink tongues

each cow had a name and knew which stall was hers
at Christmas you and your wife exchanged gifts that said "From: Bessie" or "Goldie" you loved your farm the animals the crops your family

the detective stopped by to investigate your accident I asked him if he knew what your condition was
with a kind voice he replied, "Didn't you hear? He was killed."
No-o-o-o-o! It can't be he has four children a wife a farm
God can't do this but He did

the birds stopped singing the breeze stopped blowing the brook stopped rippling everything stopped.
realization of death filled my heart overpowering every sense I had
nothing nothing mattered

days passed into months months into years I walk aimlessly brushing cobwebs from empty stall where cows once stood hungry cats prowl searching for warm spilt milk
a homemade birdfeeder sways in the breeze
the gentle brook whispers your name

I'm sure that I don't need to tell you that almost everyone in our family has this framed and mounted on our wall.