Yesterday was Memorial Day, the day we honor all who died in War. I usually think of it as Red Poppy Day. Each year, I walk up my street, cut through a business parking lot, dash accross a busy street to the Calvary Cemetery. You see, my father is buried there. He died in July 1978 from Esophical cancer. I had just turned 18.
The cemetery sits on the side of a hill overlooking Santa Rosa. It is quite the climb getting to the top where my father's grave is located. Usually I am out of breath, and yesterday was no different, as I sucked in the warm air and looked down upon the stone marker. It is marked with a small American Flag. My father was in the Army and served in Korea.
My mother already laid roses over the headstone, she obviously had been there for the early service held to honor the dead. I sat down staring at "ELDON EUGENE HUGHES" like I do each year. It seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it also seems like yesterday. As I sit staring at his name I am transformed back to being a teenager, and the years spent dealing with his cancer.
A soft breeze hits my face and I remember the day he died. It was a beautiful sunny day just like this one. My boyfriend at the time, Steve, was driving me to work at Round Table Pizza. We were on the freeway when my father's voice came through my head "Cathy come home - hurry". I turned to Steve and said, "Take me home NOW". "What? Why?" he is irritated, "We just left there" "Turn the damn car around and take me home. Its my dad!" Without another word, he takes the first exit and speeds me back home.
My father died in his favorite leather recliner. The cancer had gone to his brain and throughout his entire body. He died after watching his favorite movie, "Spencer's Mountain". He loved Maureen O'Hara and the Grand Tetons. My mother hugged me and placed a cloth over my dad's face. And that was it. This larger than life man, who I adored was gone from me in an instant. I was in shock.
The wind accross the fresh cut grass brings me back to the present moment and I cast my eyes about the graveyard. Other families are visiting lost loved ones too. We are a bonded community in silence, each understanding this type of pain. It never leaves you. You adjust, go on with life, but you are never the same, never that innocent again.
In different years this tradition doesn't bother me and often fills me with peace, but this year I am unusually sad. My dear online friend "Yoda" says its the menopause...ha!...he would say that. Bless his heart. I think at different stages of my life I miss having a father. He was my foundation, my rock, the person I could always count on. Now, during these troubled times for me, I can't call him and say, "Dad....". He always gave the best advise.
I also miss his hugs, the way his large arms would surround me and I could bury my face in his chest. I felt safe, and loved. I loved the way he smelled after putting on his after shave. He smelled like a dad should. Every now and then when in a store that still carries that brand of aftershave, I open one and take a whif and remember what a dad smells like.
I walk back down the hill after having a small chat with his headstone. I wish I could hear his voice one last time, but instead there is only the sound of the wind and the birds. Would he be proud of me? What would he say about my life? How different would my life be if he were still alive? He would have been crazy over Brian. He would be spoiling him something fierce.
Once home I pour myself a huge glass of wine and sit with my neighbors. I am restless, unsettled. I am really not suppose to be drinking. It doesn't mix well with the drugs I have to take for my Hasimotos. But like that girl of 18, so long ago, I do not listen to my own batter judgement. One glass goes to two and so on and I end the night by sobbing my eyes out with a big box of kleenex.
And I call Oscar. You know....one should always heed to their own inner voice when it is screaming "NO Don't be foolish - go to bed!" But no, I call him, this sobbing wreck of a 44 year old on the phone with too much wine and too little dinner. My girlfriends all chime in here with an "Oh noooooo you didn't!" at this part of the story. Yep, my friends I did. I remember my male friend Chris once asking me if I had gone through menopause yet. When I answered "NO!" He looked at me and said, "Oh God...I have to endure your crazy years with you?"
He may at this point have a point. Hey, at least I didn't email everyone I have ever dated, which I did do once from KB and Scott's house. We are still laughing about that one. But no, only one foolish sobbing phone call. And I really never told him what was wrong. Typical female...cry and never tell the guy what you are really so upset about...OI. I can see my girlfriends laughing hysterically at this point.
That is how I ended my Memorial Day...in a river of my own tears. Oddly enough I didn't cry when my father died, or cry at the rosary, the funeral or the wake afterwards. My boyfriend Steve never showed up to any of the events. My best friend Laura was with me from the moment I called her to tell her he had died. She was amazing. Her father came in full dress militery for the funeral. I remember how great he looked and how honored I felt, He saluted us and the coffin as we left the church for the buriel site.
The very night after the wake (well the wake was still going on but it was down to close friends and family), my mother and my Aunts gave Laura some money and told her to get me out of the house. We went to a dance at the Vets building. KFRC used to have these great dances at the Santa Rosa Vets. It was here that I met my next boyfriend Stacy. I was still in my black funeral dress.
I never spoke to Steve again for not supporting me through my fathers funeral services. He went and got drunk with friends, he said he just couldn't "handle it". It broke my heart. Stacy, on the other hand, when I told him (when he called the next day after the dance) said, "Do you need me to come over? What can I do? Are you ok?" Don't you love guys who call you the very next day after you meet, or date? I will always love him for that.
So a complete stranger (who became my boyfriend) and my best friend Laura proceeded to see me through the next year, one of the worst years of my life. That year is a story for another day my friends. I am meloncolly today, again my dear friend Yoda would say it's the menopause, but I think it is partly due to the dull headache from wine and tears, a brutal combination.
And, of course I miss my son. He comes back to me this afternoon...
Until next time-
C
PS. My imaginery lover still loves me after I have a good girls cry and am all puffy eyed and pouty.
