how the light gets in
Over the past few days we listened to authors talk about spirit, memory, reverence, irreverence and how the light gets in. Patricia is now in a writer's workshop on memoir writing. She shared some of the other stories that were submitted. I don't envy her the problem of critiquing other's work and having her own critiqued. She's a good writer and some of the others are good as well. Some, not so much...
After reading one memoir of a person's remembering her father's death it got me to thinking about my own father's passing. This was over forty years ago when I was only 14. How I remember it now has been over-layered with my growth (or lack of it) over the years. How I remember it will be different than my mother and my siblings.
I do remember that it was late in July, and that we were hosting my mother's entire family for a reunion on our small country property. I don't recall the night before this, but my mother has a story about the two of them arguing over the upcoming reunion, an obviously stressful event to prepare for. There was some comment that there would be so many people there as my mother is one of 8 siblings with spouses and children and then there were her cousins and aunts and uncles. We have a large family. As the argument escalated my father informed my mother there would be one less - he's not coming.
The next day my mother was inside getting things ready for the weekend; my dad was on his way for his last day of work before the weekend. He worked at Dofasco. We kids, myself, Mary, Paula and Dan were outside doing something to help, I don't really recall what. There were tents to put up, lawn chairs to wash and general clean up of the property. Maybe we were just out of the way.
I recall looking up at the kitchen window and seeing my mother and her mother and my dad's brother. That was extremely odd for Uncle Vic to be there. It caused an uneasy feeling and I knew something was going on. Shortly after that my mom called us in and informed us that our father had died on his way to work. A heart attack while he was driving. He was almost 36.
Dad wasn't going to be at the family reunion.
We had relatives coming from great distances for the reunion. They were all on the road when this happened. None of them were prepared to attend a funeral. They were all wearing shorts and t-shirts. There was a quick shopping spree as soon as they arrived and were informed of my dad's death.
It's a very strange thing to lose a parent so young. I was the oldest and my brother the youngest was not quite 8. I couldn't tell you my reaction now, I simply don't remember. Even at this age of 57 I still feel an incredible loss, but it naturally has lessened as I age.
I do remember the funeral. I wore my dress that I wore to my grade 8 graduation, a body skimming mini with a flame stitch pattern. I really liked it and I also can't look at a flame stitch pattern without evoking some memories of the funeral. I also remember how full the church was. My father was a choir member and maybe he also conducted - this is one of those memories that are foggy. My father's family was there. Who ever was left of his 15 brothers and sisters and their spouses and children. I did mention that I have a large family. School friends were there with their parents, neighbours and my mom and dad's co-workers. I was stunned by this showing of support and friendship for my dad.
I really don't recall the actual service. I'm sure I cried. I don't recall going to the cemetery, Holy Sepulchre. What I really remember was the wake after. We had the family reunion.
My mother's side of the family is Irish/Scottish Catholic and my father's side is Sicilian and not Catholic. The Irish drink and the Italians wail. When we got back to the farm the Irish side of the family proceeded to get the Italian side of the family good and drunk. It was a strange and wonderful celebration of my father's life and a party. Year's later, once in a while, some relative would talk about the great party we had, then pause, then realize, ohhh it was the wake. We have always celebrated life in this way. That's one way the light gets in.