When my first grandchild was born one year ago tomorrow, I was home alone. I'd spent the days leading up to that in regular contact with my wife, waiting for news, a flight to L.A. scheduled for October 5.
Until early today, it hadn't registered with me that last October 2 was probably the first time since 1998 that the anniversary date of my beloved father's passing had slipped by without me continually thinking of him. I'm not even sure if the eeriness of back-to-back milestone dates occurred to me this time last year, given how understandably consumed I was with my daughter's imminent delivery.
But this October 2 was different than last year. Today, Dad was by my side early. While driving to see some friends, I offhandedly remarked to my wife how sweet it would have been had he lived long enough to celebrate his great-grandson's first birthday tomorrow. Thoughts of him later surfaced during our walk with those friends and again during our lunch. Given my daughter was only eight years old when Dad died at seventy-nine in 1997, I realize any ruminating about him ever having had a chance to meet his great-grandson is pure fantasy. What's the harm? It kept him in my heart all day.
I'm not superstitious. Nor do I attach any cosmic meaning to the proximity of the two dates. Still, when this post began taking shape in my mind as we arrived home, I decided right then I'd wait to publish it close to midnight - as October 2 turned to October 3 - no matter the time I started or finished writing. What the heck. From an ending to a beginning - twenty-seven years and one day.
My dad died in early August 1979 and my daughter Kelly was born about seven weeks later. When Kelly was six, she was sitting "on the hump" in the back seat of my car, looking at me in the rear view mirror, while her eight-year-old brother sat next to me up front. Somehow the subject came and the kids asked me what happens to you after you die. I told them some religions (we had introduced them to none) believed there was heaven and hell -- a destination that depended on what you did when you were alive -- but I wasn't partial to that notion. But there were other religions that believed you come back in the body of a different person. As I told them how my dad had died shortly before Kelly was born, I could see her eyes getting bigger. Them I smiled at her in the mirror and said, "Hi, Dad!" And we all laughed.
ReplyDeleteHey Jim; Thanks for the personal comment and the story attached re your Dad/Kelly. I've messed with a story concept (ultimate length?) for many years - including several aborted starts - about a life ending and the new life that takes its place that same day. Working backward, I began with my own birthday (11/23/49) and found someone of note who died that day, then researched the date of that (real) person's birth, finding someone who'd died that day. My attempts at writing this have taken me back as far as a woman born in the mid 1600s in Scotland (on the same date as another real person who died that day). Unfortunately, like many of my attempts at long form, I've gotten stuck each time I pull out whatever I've already written, read it, start messing (more) with it, get discouraged, and stop again for an extended period. Long story to say how much I admire you having finished two long form books in your life. Looks like I may never crack that nut.
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