One Year

Dad died one year ago today, and if this were 2010, at this moment he'd have about another hour and forty-some minutes left in him. 

I know what I will be doing in an hour; I will be calling absent students, trying to get them to come to school. (Who wants to pay $2,000 to sit on their own couch?  You can do that for free!)  At this time last year I was in this room, probably doing approximately what I'm doing now.  The sun hasn't set yet.  When the nurse called last year and asked how far I was from the hospital, it was dark out.  I immediately began cleaning the lab, desperate for it not to be such a dire situation.  Anything, anything... I could've spitshined the room and it would've gleamed.  It was almost over.

I am thinking about Naomi tonight.  She was already there when I arrived at the hospital.  I wonder what she's doing tonight?  I should call. 

T and I went to the cemetary this morning and visited.  Ironically there was a funeral going on at the end of the row, one up.  I will never forget that -- feeling our wistfulness, but reflecting on exactly what they were doing.  At first we thought they were doing it in the rows behind Dad and we wouldn't be able to go over there.  But, alas.. we watched from a distance.  They did everything we did last year, including looking around at other graves.  They did not toss roses in like we did, though.  That funeral was near its end and the entire party sat on benches under the trees watching the workers dump the dirt.  Dirt dumping is very final but I found it cathartic.  T said his rose stuck in the middle, also.  Down the lawn today, apparently there were some children in their group, who ran around playing after the burial.  I liked that.  It was a reminder that life continues. 

While we were talking, I told T that I was often comforted by the parachutists that used the nearby airport for their landings.  My dad had wanted to be a paratrooper in the military, but was too short or something.  T said he often looks at the sun hitting the mountains in the distance.  I do the same.  He said he'd never seen the jumpers, then about six of them appeared before long in the sky.  It was neat to see them; I thought at least one was going to miss the airport and land in the cemetary.  Then as we were watching that, a huge monarch butterfly fluttered right near us.  I was amazed to see that.  It was brown and black and utterly beautiful.  The symbolism was not lost on me and I told T about it.  He sat, musing.  We talked about the probability of a butterfly in a cemetary in the middle of the desert.  T said they were attracted to the lawn and the trees probably, but I said, "Look around you... we're surrounded by desert on all sides."  BC does have more grass probably than our valley, but still it was timing.  T also told me he comes out to the cemetary sometimes late at night, and one time the lights on the runway came on randomly and no plane came to land.  (He waited fifteen minutes.)  Streetlights frequently came on or shut off in my dad's presence.  Funny little things.  I felt he was there with us.  We miss him so much.