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The Year of Firsts
Feb. 28th, 2008 09:36 amSo today would've been Dad's 65th birthday. I always remember this day because if Dad had been born a day later, he could've been a Leap Year child (or a Leaper as I call it).
I'm told the first year after losing a parent is the worst one because it's the year of firsts without the person: first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first Winter, first Birthday, etc.
For the most part, I think I'm weathering it pretty well. Every once in awhile, I get caught off-guard with random thoughts and start to cry, but unless I'm alone, these bouts don't last too long. I went through an angry phase where I basically shook my fist at the sky and demanded why my father, a good man, had to die so young and so randomly. That unanswerable question still creeps up on me from time to time.
The worst part is being so far away from my mother. If she were closer, I could just pop-out to see her and keep an eye on her. But as Quebec city is 3 hours away, it's not an easy thing to schedule. Fortunately, my mother is very well supported by her family (her brother mostly) and friends, so although she's finding the Year of Firsts difficult, she has lots of friends to lean on.
I'm really at a loss of what to do to mark this day. I'll be calling my mum today, to be sure. Some people at work, noticing my mood, offered to raise a toast of Scotch with me today sometime to honor my Dad (I love where I work). But aside from that, I just don't know. Maybe when I get home tonight I'll just light some candles and lose myself in memory. Maybe Dad will pay me a visit.
Related thought: I went to visit my mum 2 weekends ago in Quebec city and I had the weirdest experience. When I was sitting in the dining room chatting with mum (who was in the kitchen), I distinctly heard the sound of my father clearing his throat. I whirled around, looking into the solarium, but of course, I saw nothing. I said nothing about it, and went back to the conversation.
On the way back to Montreal, I mentioned this to Ms. Carotte and she said, although she didn't hear the sound, she noticed that my mother and I both started and looked into the solarium at the same time. Maybe Dad is hanging around the homestead after all.
I'm told the first year after losing a parent is the worst one because it's the year of firsts without the person: first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first Winter, first Birthday, etc.
For the most part, I think I'm weathering it pretty well. Every once in awhile, I get caught off-guard with random thoughts and start to cry, but unless I'm alone, these bouts don't last too long. I went through an angry phase where I basically shook my fist at the sky and demanded why my father, a good man, had to die so young and so randomly. That unanswerable question still creeps up on me from time to time.
The worst part is being so far away from my mother. If she were closer, I could just pop-out to see her and keep an eye on her. But as Quebec city is 3 hours away, it's not an easy thing to schedule. Fortunately, my mother is very well supported by her family (her brother mostly) and friends, so although she's finding the Year of Firsts difficult, she has lots of friends to lean on.
I'm really at a loss of what to do to mark this day. I'll be calling my mum today, to be sure. Some people at work, noticing my mood, offered to raise a toast of Scotch with me today sometime to honor my Dad (I love where I work). But aside from that, I just don't know. Maybe when I get home tonight I'll just light some candles and lose myself in memory. Maybe Dad will pay me a visit.
Related thought: I went to visit my mum 2 weekends ago in Quebec city and I had the weirdest experience. When I was sitting in the dining room chatting with mum (who was in the kitchen), I distinctly heard the sound of my father clearing his throat. I whirled around, looking into the solarium, but of course, I saw nothing. I said nothing about it, and went back to the conversation.
On the way back to Montreal, I mentioned this to Ms. Carotte and she said, although she didn't hear the sound, she noticed that my mother and I both started and looked into the solarium at the same time. Maybe Dad is hanging around the homestead after all.
