June 13, 1976

Years ago, in my 20's, I was in counseling with a wonderful woman who was helping me get through some tough things. I told her that in the spring I get a certain restlessness, an itch. It's not spring fever, I told her, it's hard to explain, it's more like I'm trying to be so crazy, so busy I'm avoiding something. She smiled a slight smile and asked me what, traumatic or life changing event may have happened at some point when I was young, in the springtime, perhaps. I remember tears filling my eyes immediately. A light bulb came on. I could barely whisper out the words. "My dad got sick. He died."

Dad was diagnosed in April of '76 and died about two months later. I have strange memories of those days, some very specific ones. If you ask anyone who knows me well, I have a very detailed, very specific memory. My heart took a lot of pictures.

June 13, 1976 was the day I realized my mom had big blue eyes. Our house was filling with people for some reason. A six year old girl didn't ask a lot of questions of adults during this time, I just knew people were coming and they were bringing food and talking in low voices. I wondered why they were there. Why they were sad and looking at us like that. Mom was coming home. She'd tell me. My older sister and I were in our room. My mom and my uncle came in and my mom's eyes were huge and bright blue with a little red around the blue. I know now when blue/green eyed people cry their eyes get really bright. I remember her eyes more than anything that day. I remember her telling us Dad had died and we jumped off our beds onto her like rhesus monkeys. I don't remember the next couple of days.

In the church we sang "How Great Thou Art" and I still have a hard time singing that song without getting a lump in my throat. I remember turning around and seeing the Gilliam family behind me. I remember my cousin Bobby reading "The Five Chinese Brothers" to me in the back seat of our car on the way to the burial. The burial was strange and I imagine my mom's heart broke especially hard when I tried to tell her I heard Dad try to get out of the casket (the wind was blowing it up against the dirt walls before it was lowered) and she had to explain to me that he was indeed, not alive, it was just the wind.

That was the last memory I have of that day and for a lot of days. But I began new memories of the strength of a woman. I learned that my mom is probably one of the strongest women I will ever know. She had three little girls and went back to school to get her Realtor license. She still went to PTA meetings, church, activities, etc. She surrounded herself with our neighborhood friends. She gave us the memory of Sunday night popcorn, hot chocolate, "Alice" on TV nights in the playroom.

My mom lost her beloved, her best friend. Daddy and she laid a good foundation though. We all went to college and we have all stayed very close. Mom used to say that some strange unforeseen force sewed us together at the hip when Dad died. Maybe. Or maybe Mom showed us how family stays together no matter what trials and hurts we go through or even put each other through. We are family.

Since realizing that I was somehow avoiding thinking about that time in my life, each year now I allow myself to think about it. But I don't dwell on Dad's death. Why? I think about his life and how he, along with his beloved wife had it made for 14 short years. I think about how he would draw pictures for me and make me "cooler coffee" (mostly milk and sugar). I think about me "helping" him in the garage. I think about the positive. I don't go to Dad's grave very often. He isn't there. In fact he told Mom not to go or take flowers because that's not where he would be. Dad knew he would be with God. I allow myself to think about the positive things, the fun things. I allow myself to think about how Dad would be proud of all us, but especially of Mom.

It really stinks losing a parent at any age, but especially a young age. Now when June 13 rolls around I celebrate my best friend's birthday. Funny, it's the same day.

Life and death. It is a circle and we know that. Nothing really prepares us I will never tell anyone else how to handle grief, ever. It's too personal. I will tell you that for me, I have learned to look at a life worth celebrating, at all the lives touched that are stronger, at memories to be smiled at and cherished, even laughed about. Myself? I strive to leave the world better, my children happier, and echoes of laughter while taking lots of heart pictures along the way.