Missing You Tonight
I'm sitting here, at 2:00 a.m., missing you sooo much tonight. It seems to come in waves now, rather than the sustained pain that never seemed to go away. I'm not quite sure when that changed. But it seems to make the pain even sharper when it hits because it's only then that I'm aware of the absence of it. The past three days have been so hard. I actually cried in my exercise class today because they were playing a Nora Jones song during the cool down and it reminded me of Eva Cassiday. Who in this family can EVER hear Eva Cassiday and not think of Daddy? I can't bring myself to watch Extreme Makeover - Home Edition either. Sometimes I cry when the commercials come on because I remember the sweet, soft look Dad would get when he would watch that show. He cried every time! And we all cried with him. Now I cry alone. It's kind of gotten to the point where I don't really call Mom or DeeDee or Tommy when I'm have a really tough time, just in case they are doing okay. I don't want to send them on a spiral. This is a lot more lonely section of the grief road because of that. There are some things that I can still remember about Daddy with such clarity. The way it felt when he hugged me and the exact place my head rested on his chest; the broken sound of his voice when he was deeply moved in prayer calling out to God; the half crooked schmoozy smile he got on his face when he sang (he looked like one of those heart throb crooner's from the '50s); the way I could always hear his voice in any crowd when we were singing in church; the way I could always find that gorgeous silver head towering above all the others in a room; the nightly annointing and prayer before he went to bed (those memories are soooo precious to me because they are shared by so few); his rituals: Casey's "W", dishes right after dinner, Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, news, coffee, then hot tub, the constant thread of him whistling around the house while he did his chores. Tonight I'm not sure how I can live the rest of my days without these wonderful treasures that have been a constant rhythm throughout my life when I sometimes lost my way and went "home". I could always find that rhythm there. It was a sure as sunrise and sunset. Like so much else in Dad's life, he was trying to point the way to the sureness of "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever". But I do so miss the tangible image of my Daddy pointing the way with his life. Maranatha - come quickly Lord Jesus ... for this and so many more reasons.
posted by Cari at 3/27/2007 02:57:00 AM
3 Comments:
Wow, my thoughts are so like yours, Cari. When I take the time to stop, to prepare myself to think about how it was, I get ready for the pain that will come. Everywhere we all went, all that we did, everything, has Tom at its center. I think about all us crowding into the various cars to go look at some new house after we'd all eaten at Houston's or Brookhaven. Or when we all walked on the Oregon coast, or laughed in hysteria down Main Street in Disneyland. Or Maui. Or eating taquitos at Olvera Street. And you're so right about the singing in church. I loved sitting in front of Tom or Bu just to hear their voices so beautifully singing about their love of God. And let's not even talk about Christmas! Will we ever laugh like that again? Who will make us, ALL of us, come down, right NOW, no matter what we're doing, to watch this thing on 20/20 that is so important? Or to hear that song, sung over and over, so loud that the neighbors can here? Just because it made Tom so happy to share what he loved watching and hearing. And the barbeques, with the chicken or steak, how do you want it? And the ever constantly, sparklingly clean pool to relax in and drink Dr. Pepper floats. Does anyone whistle like Tom? Even Casey says no ;-) He knew who his Daddy was. And Chick Filet... and hot dogs at Home Depot... and "LET'S GO TO BRAUMS". Sigh. There's just too many great things. And did you know, Cari, that no matter which store I worked in, that was where Tom would come in to buy Eileen's Chanel No. 5. (All of you would graciously shop where I worked) and that's the reflection of Tom and his goodness. Wow, do I miss him. How easy to start crying again. When does it get any easier? I can't remember when I was able to think about Mams without pain.
I cherish now all the memories and do my best to emulate what he was, because I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Tom's love.
Love you, Cari. Tracy
Our pain is evidence of Tom's value to each of us. I rejoice in the pain knowing that not having the pain would be even more sad. I love your Daddy and I pray that my children will value me half as much as Tom's value him.
I miss him tonight too. The world seems so quiet without him. I called his cell phone yesterday just to hear his voice for that agonizingly short few seconds. It wasn't enough.
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