I feel a bit self-conscious today knowing my front page is still linked at the widow board and according to the “rules” a dead parent is not worthy of grieving. At least that is what I am sure they will say when they mock me today.
“Aw, poor baby, her daddy is dead. Like that matters as much as one’s spouse.”
I was talking with my Auntie last night. She was telling me about the family plans for Thanksgiving. Everyone at Mom’s house. It’s just Mom’s house now. Nephew1 is coming up from the River Town with his father and grandmother and his dad’s younger brother. They are bringing one of those deep fryers to do up a bird on the back patio. Dad would have loved it though he’d have grumbled because he hated trying new things. I think because he always ended up liking them in spite of himself and his set in stone Virgo ways.
DNOS, BrotherInLaw and Nephew2 will be there too. Mom or Auntie will have those dinner rolls that DNOS loves so. It’s not a holiday dinner at the folks’ without those rolls. Just one folk now.
I reminded Auntie it was the 27th.
“Yes, I remember. It’s your Uncle Irv’s two months as well. His kids are keeping him busy.”
I should have known Auntie would remember. She never forgot any of the anniversaries with Will either. She knows care-taking and sadness intimately despite never being married herself. It’s not a deal breaker when it comes to grief regardless what the “rules” say.
On Saturday she told me they were all going up to Cousin Bee’s. She was hosting the Turkey Day Do for the R family. My Uncle Fran had ten children. Holidays are huge gatherings that clog the surrounding neighborhoods with vehicles.
We have Thursday today. Our Thanksgiving was a month ago. I talked to Dad that day and wished him a Happy Canadian Thanksgiving. He found that interesting. He thought a lot of my new life was interesting. And he was proud of me, especially my writing. He’d only read the piece I’d written about St. Therese. He looked at me afterward and back at the paper as though he couldn’t quite connect me with the words on the page. But he was proud. I know that look in his eyes because I didn’t get it often enough to mistake it for anything else.
He would have liked to read the pieces that were picked up for syndication, but those happened after his cancer diagnosis, and the cancer went too quickly. I didn’t even find out about the second article being picked up until the day after he died. The third piece was only picked up last week.
Today is just Thursday for me. Only Thanksgiving for everyone at home. And one month without my Dad. But everyday just before my daughter’s bus brings her home from school, I think, “It’s time to call Dad and check on him.” But it’s not allowed.