Kindness

Today is Father's Day, and the weather is glorious.  Sunny, warm, not humid.  This morning I watched church online, did mysore practice, had coffee then headed out to Trader Joe's to get flowers for my Dad, Harold L. Howard, Sr.  He passed away 14 years ago, just before Father's Day on May 30.

Each year on Father's Day, I pick up a bouquet of red roses (Dad's favorite) to take to his grave site.  For many years this ritual was difficult because his death left me raw and wide open.  In recent years, finally, his physical absence has become easier for me to accept.

A few months ago, I was at the car dealership having just negotiated the deal as planned on my new car.  While waiting for the 20-something sales associate to return from her manager's office, my boyfriend pointed to an empty chair that sat facing us in the cubicle.  "Guess who's sitting right there watching you?" he asked.  For a moment I was a surprised by what he was suggesting although we both have lost our Father's and share similar spiritual backgrounds.   In the moment, Dad's easy grin, his steady gaze through gold rimmed bifocals, and his nod of approval materialized in front of me.  At 46 years old and 14 years since Dad's passing, I was transported back to all the moments  that had been just like this one.  My mouth eased into a smile and my gaze softened on the chair.

Fast forward to this morning at Trader Joe's.  I picked out the perfect red rose bouquet and took it to the register.   The cashiers in there are very friendly; no matter who I get we talk like neighbors.  This one was no different and he asked how I was doing as I handed him the roses.  "Fine thank you.  Just buying flowers to take to the cemetery to my Dad."  The cashier stopped what he was doing.  "Wow.  You're the first person who told me that today. Everyone's been buying flowers and no one's said why."  I smiled at him and wondered what was strange about that, then went ahead and swiped my credit card.  The cashier stood there.  "I wish that there were something more I could do for you."  I looked at him.  "Your kind words of acknowledgement are enough."  He looked downcast and we stood there when I almost felt a nudge as if Dad said, "Come on Sugar, show me your new car."

"Thank you." I said again, the cashier smiled, I smiled back and left.  I don't know what made that young man pause, and our exchange stayed with me during the drive to Ft. Lincoln Cemetery.  As soon as I got there, I made a beeline to the funeral home ladies room for some paper towels on which to write this long overdue entry.

Dad you continue to find ways to inspire me.  Thank you also for allowing me to experience unexpected kindness on your behalf and for being with me wherever I go.

Missing you madly, still.

Love,

J

For My Dad On Father's Day

Today's practice was for my Dad, Harold L. Howard, Sr. who is my inspiration for living and for all of the things that I do.  He passed away in 2000 at the age of 88.  My Dad was born in Macon, Georgia in 1911; his parents died when he was very young - he would never tell  me how.  Dad  left Macon soon after never to return and he would tell me when I asked about his home town that he would never go back there because of racism. Under the care of his older brother and sister he moved to Michigan and stayed with a family friend, and when he came of age moved to New York during the era of zoot suits, the Cotton Club, Coney Island and Martha's Vineyard.

After some years there Dad moved to Maryland where he married and began raising my oldest brother.  He would lose his first wife to cancer - the pictures of her deterioration saddened me; a loss he seemed to never get over. He later married my Mom, who with two children of her own brought new life into Dad's home and a year later I was born.  His brother and sister died before I could meet them.

I have vivid memories of my Dad, his manual transmission cars (he would never drive an automatic); his HAM radio (he was an operator for more than 50 years); the smell of soldered wires in the house (he was an electrician by trade), his golf clubs and cleats (he started playing when I was about 9), his love for his own southern cooking, the large citrine ring he never took off, his flower and vegetable garden and our many pets.

Since my Dad was older, he retired while I was still in elementary school and was home in the afternoons to supervise homework and to cook dinner.  He was often the one to show up at school when that sort of thing was necessary.  We spent summers together at the pool and amusement parks.  He was an adamant supporter of my education, a  stern disciplinarian, and one that boyfriends didn't toy with.  He was everything that a Dad could be - he was always there.

Dad walked me down the aisle on my wedding day and insisted on watching me drive off from his nursing home bed. 

On days like today, he is especially on my mind and my heart breaks a little.   A friend of mine from college who lost her Mom yesterday shared with me that even though her Mom's condition was grim, she and her sister and Father wanted to do everything possible to save her.  I could identify with that because try as I might to let him go, if my Dad were still here at 102 years old I would still lay next to him holding his hand.  Some things you  just never lose attachment of easily, I guess.  So today I practiced releasing a little of the melancholy and bought him a bunch of red roses and took them to the cemetery.  Our front yard had an ancient antique rose bush, from which he picked a flower for his lapel for church every Sunday.    From the bunch I kept one - because he'd also pick one for my hair for church.  Think I'll wear it to dinner tonight.

I miss you Dad and I carry you with me everywhere.