Clink clonk, clink clonk. The faster I drove, the louder it
got. The little hand-painted frame
holding a picture of me kissing him swung on the rear view mirror. He smiled smugly. I kept looking at it. It was happening.
Miraculous.
Absolutely no traffic on the 91 on a Friday evening at 5:00pm. I sped through in my little Toyota Tercel
hoping to find my brother’s temporary residence. I almost wanted a cop to stop me. Then maybe I could share why I was rushing and he could help
me get there somehow at a faster pace.
I pulled up to Jake’s place.
Funny. I remember so many
details so vividly yet I cant for the life of me remember what his house looked
like. He hopped out as soon as he
saw me pull in. He was waiting for
me and was ready. The truck was
even started, there wasn’t a minute to waste.
“Did you pack funeral clothes?”. I don’t know why I said it. It was almost as if the months
of denial left me on the freeway and reality hit as I drove in his
driveway. And I wanted him to be a
part of it. He didn’t answer. His eyes were puffy and he was just as
focused as me to get there the fastest way possible.
Five hours. We
watched the clock move from 6:00pm until 11:00pm. Never once did we say a word. We got a call about an hour away. “Come soon. You have to. He’s going”. Bruum bruum, his diesel truck shook our bodies
as it hit record speed of over 100mph.
With the speed, we released.
It took the call to do it, but between that spot and home, we cried,
shook, sang out to the words of what the Christian radio played in despair.
At this point, we weren’t praying for a miracle. We were praying for a chance to say goodbye.
We got there, fled into the house that I grew up in, ran into the room to see
death. A body nearly
finished. Yet his chest still
barely moved up and down. I flung
my body on top of his and wept.
“Dad, we’re here. “ “I love you”. “I love you so very much”. “You can go now”.
I took my hands and memorized every portion of his face. Ran my fingers through the prominent creases
of his skin, the places that would crinkle when he laughed. I touched the back part
of his hair, the part I would twirl my fingers in as a girl. It was him, the man that meant
everything to me, yet he was leaving.
Forever. I kept my head on
his chest and laid there listening to every breath. I wanted the last moments. It was selfish.
There was a room full of people, yet this was my last chance to be with
him. I didn’t care.
I looked up, a single tear drop rolled down the side of his
face. Even though his eyes were
closed and his body still, he knew I was there and he waited. He waited for Jake and I. We had forty minutes. My cousin came in and started singing
Amazing Grace. The room was filled
with angels. I didn’t see them,
but sure could feel them as they ushered him into heaven. All of a sudden death was the most
beautiful thing to witness. He
took his last breath. I will never
forget that feeling…waiting to hear another gasp, just to experience silence
and stillness.
I turned around and proclaimed, “He’s gone”.
And like that the hussle and shuffle of what had to be done
next took place. It was over. The
wait. The pain. The unknown. He
had left. In the house he built,
on the property he spent every Saturday working on with his wife and kids.
Over. To something much
greater. To meet the true love of
his life, the core of his being.
His strength.
Everyone had about thirty minutes to talk to him in
privacy. I got my chair up close
to him, yet I couldn’t touch him for some reason. Here I was minutes before
with my face against his and my hands in his hair and now I can’t touch
him. I told him, “I don’t know why
I’m talking to you. I know you are
gone. But I suppose this is needed
for me to let go. So here
goes: You were the most incredible
father. A dream. Both light and laughter, so Christ-like
and passionate. Manly yet gentle.
I adored you. Every
day. You could do no wrong. I can only dream to find someone even
remotely similar to you.”
And I did.
Scarlett and I were pruning some of my aloe plants
yesterday. I break their leaves for
the gel. By breaking them, the remnants naturally fall into the soil to replant
new aloe plants. As I pulled back
the leaves to trim them, all of this new life was sprouting beneath.
Jason. Carter.
Everett. Scarlett. August. Elias.
New life.
Every day, new life.
My
life.
Six other lives.
Life!
And so now, on every fourteenth day of February, the details
laid out above race through my mind.
Valentines Day. But it’s
not a day of sadness or sorrow.
There’s something very comforting about replaying the day, glancing at
the clock. It’s probably the only day of the year I pay such attention to a
clock. I like to replay those
feelings. Even though it was a day
of loss, the memory of it is soothing. I don’t want to forget it. Perhaps that’s why I wrote about it.
Today both boys had Valentine’s parties. I attended
Everett’s then snatched Carter and took them early (no need to drive there
twice!). We were going to go the
lake for some sun, but something prompted me to go to a creek we visited often
this summer.
The sun had already dropped below the mountain as the creek
is in a deep basin. It was dark,
but warm and peaceful…we were the only ones there. Really great, joy-filled memories of this summer flooded my
heart. The kids scattered around
with excitement as if they had never been there. Trees. Water. Laughter. The presence of God. It was the best possible place to be at
the best possible moment. I was
able to have my moment of grief all while experiencing such great joy.
And life.
Life!
And that’s what Valentines Day means to me.. It’s not a day where I think about my
love story, it’s a day to reflect on my life story. Not just life in the past, but life now, and life to come.
And there's nothing more exciting than that!
