One Step Forward
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jXrmAKBBTU
Losing my father was like losing my world. It happened so long ago but I see it like yesterday. A week before I lost him he asked me if I thought he was going to make it and for the first time ever, I lied to my father.
"Yes, Daddy. You're gonna be just fine."
Since that cold February day in 1995 I have grieved my over my father. With him, I lost a big part of myself. It is a daily struggle trying to gain it back but a few days ago, I decided it was time.
It was the day before what would have been his ninetieth birthday and I didn't know how I was going to make it through. His birthday was not a whole lot better. It's been almost seventeen years since the last time I saw my father but his memory remains so vivid in my mind.
I can just see him now, out in our yard, or the gardens. "Not time to pick those grapes yet, Robbie. Won't be good for the jelly if you do."
Sitting on the side porch with the sun setting on the horizon you could smell the sweet smell of honeysuckle. He always wore a pair of dickeys pants and a white t shirt. A cowboy hat.
He would wipe the sweat from his brow and I would bring him out some iced water. My grandmother, through the day, would complain about why he was weeding the lawn the way he was and my mother would just get mad over the complaining.
My aunt and uncle would get to the house and the men would sit outside and the women inside, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
The homemade biscuits lending such a great smell through the place and to outside as I pulled them from the oven and wrapped them in a cloth inside of a basket.
Everything else was coming together as the last pieces of chicken came out of the oil and the homemade macaroni and cheese came out of the oven. The beans I had snapped were ready as well and we all sat down to eat.
Pecan pie for dessert. I had to make it my grandmothers way. Go get the pecans out from under my uncles pecan tree and crack the shells of them all, making sure there were no particles left over. It was a task, at best..
The finished product certainly was a good one. This was a regular Sunday evening at my house. I don't even have to close my eyes to think of it. Me in the kitchen looking out the window over the sink at all the crops, or shadows of them as the sun fell down and the sky turned vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples.
I would take off my apron and let my dad and uncle know dinner was ready and I would serve my grandmother. Much more was cooked than was mentioned and there were always leftovers. Everything was from scratch and the macaroni and cheese was the best, with the stewed tomatoes my father and I put up the year before.
We would sit outside as the sun was going down and snap beans to put up, always sending things home with people.
Those were definitely the good old days. I sure do miss them. I think of all these memories of my father and all of the rest of them, who have passed and it is really hard. My dad was the first to go of them all and was seemingly the most healthy, the one who took the best care of himself. None of it made sense.
But today I shared my story with someone. Its a long, drawn out complicated one that at times is quite unbelievable, once we get into the times at the end of my marriage. Some of the things I endured back then.... I don't know how I made it through.
What I do know, is that it is effecting my here and now, which should be smooth sailing. I feel like I am in a small row boat at dusk with the water kicking up and into the boat.
I don't like that feeling, and when it happens, I just want it to go away. That is where I find myself today and the last few days. Wanting the happiness I deserve, and all the unpleasant things to just leave me be.....
Losing my father was like losing my world. It happened so long ago but I see it like yesterday. A week before I lost him he asked me if I thought he was going to make it and for the first time ever, I lied to my father.
"Yes, Daddy. You're gonna be just fine."
Since that cold February day in 1995 I have grieved my over my father. With him, I lost a big part of myself. It is a daily struggle trying to gain it back but a few days ago, I decided it was time.
It was the day before what would have been his ninetieth birthday and I didn't know how I was going to make it through. His birthday was not a whole lot better. It's been almost seventeen years since the last time I saw my father but his memory remains so vivid in my mind.
I can just see him now, out in our yard, or the gardens. "Not time to pick those grapes yet, Robbie. Won't be good for the jelly if you do."
Sitting on the side porch with the sun setting on the horizon you could smell the sweet smell of honeysuckle. He always wore a pair of dickeys pants and a white t shirt. A cowboy hat.
He would wipe the sweat from his brow and I would bring him out some iced water. My grandmother, through the day, would complain about why he was weeding the lawn the way he was and my mother would just get mad over the complaining.
My aunt and uncle would get to the house and the men would sit outside and the women inside, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
The homemade biscuits lending such a great smell through the place and to outside as I pulled them from the oven and wrapped them in a cloth inside of a basket.
Everything else was coming together as the last pieces of chicken came out of the oil and the homemade macaroni and cheese came out of the oven. The beans I had snapped were ready as well and we all sat down to eat.
Pecan pie for dessert. I had to make it my grandmothers way. Go get the pecans out from under my uncles pecan tree and crack the shells of them all, making sure there were no particles left over. It was a task, at best..
The finished product certainly was a good one. This was a regular Sunday evening at my house. I don't even have to close my eyes to think of it. Me in the kitchen looking out the window over the sink at all the crops, or shadows of them as the sun fell down and the sky turned vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples.
I would take off my apron and let my dad and uncle know dinner was ready and I would serve my grandmother. Much more was cooked than was mentioned and there were always leftovers. Everything was from scratch and the macaroni and cheese was the best, with the stewed tomatoes my father and I put up the year before.
We would sit outside as the sun was going down and snap beans to put up, always sending things home with people.
Those were definitely the good old days. I sure do miss them. I think of all these memories of my father and all of the rest of them, who have passed and it is really hard. My dad was the first to go of them all and was seemingly the most healthy, the one who took the best care of himself. None of it made sense.
But today I shared my story with someone. Its a long, drawn out complicated one that at times is quite unbelievable, once we get into the times at the end of my marriage. Some of the things I endured back then.... I don't know how I made it through.
What I do know, is that it is effecting my here and now, which should be smooth sailing. I feel like I am in a small row boat at dusk with the water kicking up and into the boat.
I don't like that feeling, and when it happens, I just want it to go away. That is where I find myself today and the last few days. Wanting the happiness I deserve, and all the unpleasant things to just leave me be.....
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