We didn’t eat eggs around my house much when I was growing up. My mom is allergic to them and my dad never seemed to care for them. I do remember dying eggs at Easter when I was young, and I even think I remember my dad helping me “find” them when I was really little, although I may just be remembering a photo I’ve seen of us at Easter; I’m not really sure.
I’m sitting in the house I grew up in this week, and I have done some writing. It’s the sort of writing I never really wanted to do, and the sort I don’t really want to do again, although I imagine that someday I may have to.
This week I wrote my dad’s obituary. How to sum up a beautiful life in a scant paragraph while still stunned by the loss? I managed to come up with something but it isn’t quite right. There is no way to convey in several words what he means to me, to my mom, to my brother, to the community he lived in for 58 years. If anyone reads it, and they knew him, they’ll know. If they didn’t know him, they missed out.
Finding the details of his life is a bit like hunting for Easter eggs. Each time I discover something new through a story told by a family member or friend, or in photos that I haven’t seen yet, it is a new treasure. I regret that I am only learning some of these things now, when I can only get second-hand information, but they are still treasures.
As adults we sometimes take for granted the existence of our parents. Even if it isn’t unexpected, as in my dad’s case, as he had been ill, it is startling when they leave us. Even now, I somehow think that I could go to the nursing home where he had been living, and that he would be there, that I could hear him call me “Punkin” one more time. I can’t wrap my head around the idea that the sound of his laughter only exists in my heart now. His sense of humor was perhaps his single most defining characteristic. I ended his obituary like that. “He will be missed for his infectious laugh and his generous spirit.” That’s true. But it is so much more than that.
If you still have the opportunity, chers lecteurs, I urge you to go cherish your parents for a few minutes. If they have already gone, then call forth and cherish a treasured memory. I will be doing both now.
One of my dad’s biggest desires in being a dad was that my brother and I could take care of ourselves. We can, dad. We can. We are going to miss you, but now, we will take care of mom and we will do what we can to live the lives you’d want us to live.
This post is part of Linda G Hill’s “Stream of Consciousness Saturday” — Click and read, click and join in! Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “egg.” Use it as a noun or a verb. Enjoy!
P.S. Before all this happened, I had already written and scheduled my post for the “A to Z” Theme Reveal on Monday March 21. I am still working on my A to Z posts and I will doggedly finish them all. My dad often did things “doggedly.” Maybe I inherited a bit of that!