Memory Collecting

Earlier today I was privileged to attend the memorial service for a client of mine, during which his children and grandchildren recalled the many colorful events and heartwarming moments that they had shared with  him.   They spoke of how right up until his death, at age 92, this gentlemen had touched them in so many ways, and continued to bless them with love and affection.

As I sat listening, I couldn't help but think about odd it is going to be when I am someday in that position of remembering my father.  My husband, Mike and I, had talked about this recently as well.  While there are so many wonderful times, they seem so long ago.   The past ten years have been dotted with a handful of bright memories, but there have been so many surreal and dark moments it's harder to pluck them out.  

Granted, many of them are funny, but in a tragic way.  Like this holiday season, for example.  I can't quite see myself recanting this tale:   " I'll never forget Christmas 2011, when Dad came down from Mahnomen to stay in a hotel for a night to relax and swim with the kids, and when he couldn't stay another night he decided to lay down in the lobby of the Embassy Suites till the cops had to finally be called to haul him out."    And I probably wouldn't want to recant one of his common remarks to me, of how after 100 times of telling him that he will not be living in an apartment, he reminds me that my brother and I are the meanest kids he's ever known.    Laughable, but not in a fuzzy, feel-good kind of way.

I feel bad for my kids, because the "good" experiences they've shared with my dad, pre-injury and pre-treatment, are mere threads in an intricately woven blanket that's been wrapped around our family.   At least they have a few of these, and can vaguely remember what he used to be like when he could drive, hit tennis balls with them, carry them on his shoulders.  One of their favorite recollections is of sitting in the back of my dad's pickup truck, while he drove them slowly up and down our driveway - over and over again.  Such a simple activity, yet such a strong and lasting memory.  

I don't know when that date will come when it will be our family's turn to remember my father.  I am sure that after looking back at old photos and keepsakes and telling stories with friends and family, it will be easier to find joy in the colorful weave that is uniquely his.  My hope is that the unraveling will subside, and there will be more solid threads to to be added.