Flashback to Halloween 2010.
Luke and I were invited to a Halloween party of one his friends. Neither of us are big fans of parties, but felt mildly obligated and, well, heck, Halloween used to be my favorite holiday- still, I wasn't feeling it. Until! I was on my way home and realized that I was wearing my father's flannel. I had a stroke of brilliance (read: laziness): I could dress up as my father for Halloween! It would be simple and I could be comfortable. A pair of Luke's beige pants, hiked up to my upper waist, white t-shirt, light colored shoes, my father's baseball cap, and, voila, I am my dead father!
(Note: I know that those of you that knew my father are screaming foul at the baseball cap. It should be a cowboy hat! I concur, but this was seat-of-the-pants costuming and I had one of his baseball caps, not one of his beloved cowboy hats.)
Drama geek that I am, I needed a prop to finish off the costume. My father was a book NUT. No. Really. He was obsessed. So, of course, the proper prop was a book. Shakespeare? No, cuz he'd read from the giant anthology — not one of those piddly little paper backs- and I wasn't carrying a behemoth through the whole party. (Oh, if only I'd had his walker to tote it around, but alas…) Luckily I'd inherited a few hundred of his books. I perused the shelf and ran across James Joyce's Ulysses, chosen not because of his affinity to Joyce, but because it matched my outfit. Something my father never would've considered.
I opened the book and inside was a small note written on a sheet of one of those page-a-day calendars.
Flashback to Independence Day 2009.
My father's evil children (me and my brothers) moved him out of the house he'd lived in for half his life and into an assisted living facility that smelled of COOKIES. Thus, July 4, 2009, had been dubbed The first day of [his] death.
Flash forward to Halloween Flashback.
I'm reeling. Punched in the gut by my father's words. The guilt and horror of what I've done, of what I did to this poor, defenseless old man, make me nauseous. I call my brother. He laughs. What a jerk. So passive aggressive. He'd never say anything to our face.
Later, I realized the baseball cap of my father's that I was wearing said Rule 62. For those of you that don't know, that means, Don't take yourself so damned seriously.
I don't know if those words were to me or to him, but I'll take'm either way.
Wonderful post, K. But a point of clarification: I believe your father brought a slim paperback Hamlet to your wedding.
Good thing I didn't know that, or I would've missed his loving note!
I too had a similar experience when I found myself having to move my 98 year old grandmother who had been recently diagnosed with dementia, from her home in Los Angeles for over 30 years to my sisters home in NCAL. One day when I was visiting her she looked at me with a look of puzzlement and said, " why are you punishing me, what did I ever do to you to deserve this?" You see my grandmother was the rock of our family and I was her favorite grand daughter. She wanted to live with me in my home in Los Angeles. At the time I was too centered on my on situation at home and did not realize that the move to NCAL was also her first day of her death. We later found notes she had written begging to be saved and wanting to go to Los Angeles.
Oy. That's heartbreaking. Those notes are so devastating.
Katherine,
I remember finding that piece of paper when we were cleaning out his belongings at the assisted living place….quite amazing
and Rule 62…Thank you for that!
I love you….