My dad died two years and 4 months ago. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. It was a beautiful ceremony. A sunny, chilly day. I returned the day after to say good-bye again. I sat in the newly spilled dirt talking to my dad. Telling him that his site had a view of the Washington Monument, and faced directly into the repaired wall of the Pentagon. The repair that had to be made because someone flew a plane into it. I talked to him. I cried. I took a bit of the dirt and I left.
I haven’t been back since. Others have. Others have seen his headstone, have seen his site covered in beautiful, fresh green grass. Others have visited. I haven’t yet.
It’s time to go back. I haven’t tried to stay away, it’s just a significant road trip to get there. I couldn’t let another year go by without visiting. I need to go. I need to see his stone. I need to lay flowers. I need to be there to remind my daughter of the Papa she played with as a baby. I need to tell my little boy about the Papa he used to nap with when he was just an infant. I need to introduce my baby to the memory of my Daddy.
It’s time.
Some of us, only have memories to give our children. My kids have only one grandparent left.
Other people have little conflicts with their living parents over nothing. It really is not worth it.
Isn’t it hard to share a memory of someone you love? Meaning that you can never do them justice in retelling their stories. I never met my grandpa, and I know my mom loves him tremendously, but I wish I had known this man she cares so much for, who is essentially a photo and a few stories to me. I hate that I can’t make my own dad more than that for them. But I also know that he wouldn’t want to me to be consumed by that truth, and be saddened by it. He would just want me to live and make great memories with my kids that they can carry forever, like he did with us.
Oh, how you can bring tears, happy tears. I visited, now if I can stop crying and see this page..glad I can type without seeing the keybroad, him and was left with the feeling that when I go, I want to be laid near him. I love(d) your father and I miss him. I will visit in November and say to him, Thanks, Thanks for just being and sharing God’s great gift of friendship and brotherhood. I am glad you made the trip and how I remember us holding Samantha and feeling part of something wonderful..God’s gift of a child.
Love you all.
Hop
PS..You do have friends that are not White..(SMILE).
Okay Hop, go ahead and make me cry, again.
I know you loved him, and still do. More importantly, he knew you loved him. In his last years, it seemed harder and harder for some to be near him and see his physical decline. The truth is, I don’t think it was easy for anyone. Which makes it all the more a gift that you saw him whenever you could. It reminded him that he was not alone, that he was not forgotten, that he was not unvalued. It reminded him that he was appreciated, that he was loved, that he mattered. Thanks for being his friend. And thanks for being ours. We are so thankful for you and your beautiful wife!
PS-I did think of you after I wrote that post (why are all my friends white?). Funny that you mentioned that!