Leader of the Band

I lost My Dad on February 14 and I'm still grieving; in fact I'm not altogether certain I'll ever be through grieving. I miss him in many ways, some of which surprise me. I miss his big bright smile and how he always gave you his full attention the minute he saw you, even in his last few days. Sometimes he didn't recognize me but he was still happy to see me. I sorely miss his big bear hugs and how he would drape his (once) strong arm across my shoulder and that saucy wink, as if we shared a secret joke no one else would understand. I miss his low chuckle when he found life's twists and turns amusing, his sage bits of "horse sense" he dispensed, his wry sense of humor. But I was surprised to find that I felt ungrounded, as if I had suddenly lost my footing and might just float right off the earth. He was my rock and I knew I would feel his loss deeply...I just wasn't prepared to feel like a helpless child and an old tired woman at the same time. We knew he was going to go away from us in bits and pieces because of the Alzheimers. We could see his other illnesses and old age catching up to him,so it was no surprise that it happened. But my Mother was right when she said that no matter how prepared you think you are, you're never really ready to have to let go of somone you love who is part of your very being. I actually believed I heard him talking to me a few days after he passed. I was so used to carrying on a back and forth conversation with him all during the day, that I actually turned around to say "what was that you were saying,Dad"? Fortunately,no one else was within earshot. I grinned ruefully as I realized I would carry him every where I went even if I couldn't see him or talk to him. And that, if he could have seen me at last moment, he would have poked me in the ribs and teased me about it, saying" better watch that talkin' to yourself, it'll getcha in trouble".He was with me at that moment.
Dad was famous for his coffee..not necessarily in a good way. Mom liked it, which was the way it should be after that many years together. It was more like brown water to me but I drank it with him every day, none the less. The day after he died, I made the coffee and drank it...more as a tribute to our daily ritual than any desire to actually drink it. He was with me then, too. I know he is with my son every day as he tries to fill his Dandad's big shoes and be his own family's rock. He was with us when my daughters and I were remembering the funny and the not-so-funny memories we have of rained out camping trips, family gatherings, the life lessons he taught us and the many little things that remind us of him. He is with his grand children and his great-grandchildren, because he was such a part of thier lives. Yesterday, my daughter in law and I were out planning the garden and exclaiming over every bit of new spring green showing, and he was there with us, telling us how to lay out the rows. I can hear him giving me a hard time about not being able to make a straight row if my life depended on it..like he ribbed me every year.
I know he is at peace now, sleeping in Jehovah's memory until it's time for him to come back to life. He's not really here. But my heart still hears him. Every time I go to check on the chickens. Every time I go look at the new calf, born just a few days before he left us. Every time I see a "red sky at night" sunset. A peace rose. The breeze blowing the nectarine blossoms off the tree that bloomed too soon every year. He was tied to the land; it meant everything to him. His acre of paradise. He gave me that gift, that connection to the land, to green and growing things that feed my soul. I hope I also inherit his peace, generosity and sense of loyalty. I know he handed down to me his commitment to family and enduring love and his way of deeply savoring the simple joys of living; the treasuring of special moments with loved ones. If our Family is a band, he was the leader of it. His blood runs through all of us,and I for one hope I can do him proud.