Stories

Originally published on January 9, 2006.

While the day my father passed away remains the hardest day of my life, the days leading to the funeral stick with me. More specifically the stories.

My dad never talked about himself. It took me years to figure out what he actually did for a living. I never asked. It never came up. The closest I got to learning anything about my dad was an 8th grade Family History Project. Sadly, I'd forgotten what he shared with me. I had no idea what he was like growing up. I didn't know what my mom saw in him that made her want to marry him.

My dad left me without telling me about himself. I was hoping that day would come when I'm older with a couple kids, and we'd share a beer, and that would be Sharing Time With Dad. He'd bestow upon me all his wisdom, tell me what he was feeling when he proposed to Mom, what he felt when at the time of my birth.

That will never be.

But the days leading up to the funeral were nervewracking, to say the least. I had to come up with the eulogy. For two days, I drew a complete blank. I went to the beach, with only tears to show for it.

And then stories came.

My family started opening about my dad. Former co-workers came by to pay their respects.Distant relatives and longtime family friends came by. There were tears, hugs, the whole deal. But most importantly, there were the stories.

One after another, people started sharing about my dad, and about the kind of man that he was. While they didn't make an immediate impact on me at the time, now when I look back on those stories, well, it breaks me down.

Here are just few things about my dad:

- When my dad was younger, my grandfather made him sell popsicles around the town. My dad would sit under a shady tree and eat the popsicles himself.

- At a family friend's debutante ball, my dad volunteered to serve punch. According to my auntie, the line for the punch bowl was HUGE. So was the line for women's restroom.

- My dad taught me, my brother and my mom how to drive. I've never been in an accident. *knocks on wood* (EDIT: Sadly, I got into an accident about 6 months after writing this.)

- According to his co-workers, my dad never said anything bad about anyone, and nobody said anything bad about him.

- According to my uncle, my dad was the "backbone" of the family. Never taking sides, my dad would always be in the middle, trying to make peace, where my aunts and uncles couldn't.

Tonight I thought about those stories. I thought about the little things my dad would do to show his love for me, my brother, and my mom. I thought about how I unconsciously strive to emulate my dad's character. And I broke down and wept, probably the hardest I've wept since that spring morning almost two years ago.

Totally didn't see it coming. But that's the grieving process. You weep, you mourn, then life takes over, you move on, and then something will trigger another episode (maybe a movie or a song, or just a thought) and you repeat the cycle.

But if anything, you remember the stories. You remember the awesome times you shared. And the stories become a part of you.

And that's when the tears are part sorrow, part joy.