This one is dedicated to my father, who would be 92 today. He died at 88 on 4/22/22. He loved double numbers. He was born on 11/11/33 before this day became Veterans Day, but he loved that his birthday became such an important holiday. He was proud to be a veteran, but more than that, he was proud of his two older brothers who fought in WWII and Vietnam. My father never had to go into war.
I imagine him today, not in the deathbed (that memory lasted too long in my brain), but as he would sit in his chair every morning and read the paper, exclaiming every few minutes or so about some injustice that he would read aloud to my mother. He loved to hate politics.
My husband Jeff is like him in this. Jeff reads news on a tablet and laughs out loud until I ask him what’s so funny. He enjoys modern day memes and comics that play on human idiosyncrasies. He also reads aloud other news that he feels may interest me. “You may be interested to know…”
I have my father with me always in his artwork. He was a black and white pointillist artist. I look at his drawings and swoon at the idea that his fingers touched each dot on the paper.
There is a progress/pattern to grief. At first, it was soul gripping and traumatic. Now that Mom is gone, too, I feel more at peace and filled with a kind of longing for them that is nostalgic. Dad in his chair reading the news. Mom with her coffee (always black) doing a crossword.
Today on Dad’s birthday and Veterans Day, I am warm and happy that I had a loving home.
Reflections on the Teche 
Happy Birthday to your Dad. My Dad’s birthday is tomorrow. I can’t be with him and wish that I could be. Grief is a funny thing. It controls me until I learn to go with the grain of it being part of my life. This, slice of your life is also beautiful. Enjoy today.
I’m sorry you can’t be with your dad. I hold close the last few conversations I had with mine. He was sharp until the end which I am now seeing as a wonderful gift.
It was an honor to “meet” your dad today in your slice. I would have been his friend simply because of his love of double numbers. I was born on 10/11 and 11 is my favorite. And I love today’s date 11/11. So fun that today is his birhtday and and was born in 33. (The same year my dad was born!) Thank you for including a photo of one if his paintings. Somehow your line: “I look at his drawings and swoon at the idea that his fingers touched each dot on the paper. ” stick with me. Often I look at a artwork and see it and forget that someone’s fingers touch it and created it. Thnak you for sharing your dad with me today.
My birthday is 8/11! Love those 11s.
Thanks for this introduction to your dad. I’m glad good memories are starting to replace the hard ones of the end.
My dad died before we had a chance to get to know each other as adults. I’ve never stopped trying to make him proud. The book I’m reading now (THE WINTER OF THE DOLLHOUSE by Laura Amy Schlitz) has made me miss Mom with a squeeze of my heart and the pain in the back of my throat that holds back tears. It’s not fair that she and dad never got to finish the dollhouse they were building, that all her miniatures never got to be arranged and rearranged in the rooms. That she never got to be the little girl she didn’t get to be in real life.
Mary Lee, a dollhouse? I want to know more. Oh what a thing to write about. I have one from my childhood and one we bought at an antique store. I keep them out for the grands to play with but they also hold nostalgia.
Your dad sounds like he was a wonderful human being and so talented! Today would have been my mom’s 98th birthday; she died just short of her 91st. It is comforting when grief abates enough to allow us to relish in the memories of our loved ones. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
91! I so wish I could’ve had a few more years. In his homily the priest said it’s ridiculous to say a life of 88 years was too short, but it was. Thanks for sharing and supporting me.
Margaret, I always love seeing your father’s artwork. It is so precise and stands out with a black and white pen. I can’t imagine how patient he must have been with pen in hand. Your line, “There is a progress/pattern to grief,” is true.
My immediate trauma is gone but the lingering grief is still within. My Granddgirl asked if Grandpa’s ashes inside the gray granite stone box gilded with gold birds flying through the sky. I have a miniature one too that sits on my desk. These containers bring me peace not sadness now.
I am glad that your grief has leveled off bringing you nostalgic feelings.
Oh, Carol. I don’t even like to compare my grief to yours. A spouse must be so different from losing a parent. I’m glad you are finding moments of peace.
The “memory that lasts too long” is still with me. Actually, both of them are, although many days I can gently push them away, letting them know they can come out & sit with me another day.
I also wrote about my parents today, wishing I could share with them some of the joys & hardships their grandchildren have been experiencing. Your dad sounds like it would be easy to miss him. I hope writing about him today brought some peace.
It’s easier to write now that I have some perspective. I still have grief but it’s changed. Thanks for reading and most of all, connecting.
Margaret,
What a gift to have art made by your dad and to have a husband who carries forth some of his traits.
Thank you for sharing your Dad with us.
I feel like I know your dad from your writings and from his artwork. I bought Illuminate a few years ago and loved his work and the writing you did. I’m glad you had such a loving relationship. Happy Birthday and Veterans Day to your dad!
Margaret, this is such a beautiful tribute to your father. I love that you are connected as artists and that his artwork graces your home. This section “I feel more at peace and filled with a kind of longing for them that is nostalgic. Dad in his chair reading the news. Mom with her coffee (always black) doing a crossword.” landed so sweetly, so gently. Thinking of both you and your dad today.