« Suddenly it all makes sense! | Main | Help me civilize my son and I'll let you ride in the front »
08/13/2009
Laughs and claps her hands
I wish I could show you the picture. I'm sitting on my father's lap. My curly hair's in what my mother always called puppy-dog ears, a ponytail on each side of my head. My hands are in motion, and you can see that my fingernails are painted, but that most of the polish has chipped off. I'm looking at something behind the photographer, and obviously it delights me; my open-mouthed grin conveys nothing less than ecstasy.
My father's smiling, too, but not with my slack-jawed juvenile awe. It's a quieter joy on his face. He's not smiling at what I see. He's looking instead at me.
The photo ran in the newspaper, pegged to the circus performance we'd attended. The caption begins, "Julie ___________, age 2, laughs and claps her hands..."
I don't have a copy of the picture. Still, it's sharp and clear in my mind, though the last time I saw it was years ago. The clipping was yellowed and the brittle edges of the paper were flaking; I assume it's degraded since then. So far as I know my mother has it, since I can't imagine she threw it away when she moved out of the house she shared with my dad. If I asked, I know she'd send it, but I'm happy, just now, not to have it.
I think it would hurt to see it. Well, today I know it would.
...
Two years ago today my dad died. The loss isn't any more painful today just because of the date; it's the whole month of August that gets me. It's the perfect weather that does it, and the motorcycles that go with it. Last weekend hundreds of them roared through downtown as we left the farmer's market, a half-hour procession, and I thought I would be sick. Dizzy, a metallic taste in my mouth, a prickle of sweat, the need to pant to get enough air, an urge to run. (To where? The roads are blocked.) A panic I feel on gorgeous days when a Harley rumbles by.
It was almost as bad two weeks ago when we drove through New York to a wedding. Our route was the same my dad took that day, a forested curve through the Adirondacks, a beautiful road for a hellish ride. Schroon Lake, where the accident happened. Albany, where he died. As I drove I kept shaking my head like a disoriented animal, trying to dislodge the idea that no one else on that long stretch of road knew that something had ended there.
I am better, of course, than I was. Time's an industrious bastard. The intensity of the grief has diminished, and if I'm still thinking of him every single day, it's not every single minute. It's progress, and while most of the time I'm glad for it, sometimes it's sad as hell. The less it hurts, the longer it's been, and the poorer I am for not having him.
That newspaper picture, decades old, is in my thoughts today because on this anniversary we went to the circus. I was just the mess I'd suspected I'd be. I started crying as soon as the troupers skipped into the ring and didn't stop until we left the tent. I watched Charlie, saw the same expressions cross his face that my father saw on mine. I watched Paul hold Ben on his lap while Ben laughed and clapped his hands — the tentative pat-pat-pat of a brand-new skill — steadying a child with his body just as Dad did in the picture. I watched these handsome, healthy children, and I reflected that for them, the worst, whatever it will be, is probably years down the pike. And if I'd had the power to watch myself, I'd have seen what was in my dad's heart and on his face the moment that picture was taken. How sad that all is, and how wondrous.
Comments (72)
Verify your Comment
Previewing your Comment
This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.
As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.
Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.
Beautiful. Bless you, Julie.
Tears. Beautiful post.
You killed me with those last lines. Killed me. I had to hold my mouth while I cried.
I'm so sorry, sweetie. I was thinking about you all day.
⥠It never really gets easier. Just different. Thinking of you.
Beautiful post. Thinking of you.
i'm crying. so beautifully put.
Beautiful post.
chiming in with N--it never gets easier, just different. Have lost both mom and dad in the last seven years. Feel the universe is simultaneously closing in on me and expanding away. Which is the freeing feeling and which is the loss feeling? I can't tell! Beam me up. Has your dad come to you in dreams yet? Mom comes constantly to me these days. Take care.
Thinking of you...
You just took my breath away. Thinking of you and your family...
Remembering your father with you today, Julie. I'm so sorry.
What a beautiful tribute to your father Julie. Thinking if you and wishing you didn't have to miss him at all.
Sobbing. So beautifully written.
Hugs, Julie.
For the last two years, I have thought of you and your dad every time I hear "Love Reign O'er Me" on the radio.
Thank you for posting this today.
thinking of you.
karen
Beautiful post (((hugs))) it never goes away
Wow. Today, back to back, I read Matt Logelin's, then your post. The eyes are not dry.
I'm sorry for your loss.
Your post brought tears to my eyes as well.
BTW, I LOVED Circus Smirkus when I was a kid. Haven't been in to see it years, but will always have fond memories.
Remembering you and your father, Julie. I'm so very sorry for your loss.
Sorry for your loss sweetie. My dad is my pal and I don't think I will handle it well when he does pass away which better be NEVER.
As with so many other times, when I want so badly to pick up the burdens of another woman's heart and carry them for her, words fail me. I can't make it better, undo it or ease your grief.
Please just know I'm feeling it with you.
a beautiful heartbreaking post. You have this pregnant momma in tears.
Julie, your writing about your family is some of the most moving to me of all that you've done over the years. I'm so sorry for your loss and the tangled mess that memories bring up at expected and unexpected moments. I wish I could help in some small way to ease the ache. My thoughts are with you. xoxo
stunningly beautiful post, julie... two years already... almost hard to believe. although i'm sure you feel every day of it.
What a beautiful post and a beautiful tribute to your father. It's very obvious that he lives on in his daughter and that must make him very happy indeed. My sympathies, as I know that the wound - no matter how much time has passed - still hurts the same.
xoxoxoxoxo
Beth
Through the tears that this post created, I couldn't help but put on my librarian hat. If you want a copy of that photo, check the library or historical society in the city/town where the paper was published. My mother, who passed away 20 years ago, published a community newspaper. I no longer have any copies, but the public library does, which is a great comfort to me.
My heart goes out to you today.
*tears*
A beautiful tribute.
Your Dad is so proud.
I'm sorry you're missing your dad. It sucks (and I've been doing it for 18 years). But I find that, as time passes, all the good things I remember eclipse most of the bad.
Beautiful post. I love the image of both of you in the picture.
I'm sorry for your loss. I lost my dad in August as well, 8 years ago. It still hurts.
My husband owns a little piece of property right near Schroon Lake and we actually both work in Albany (interesting coincidence). Now I will think of your Dad whenever we visit the camp up there and Schroon Lake.
I lost my dad to suicide last year. He jumped off a bridge. For a long time I had to drive over that bridge every day. I know exactly what you're talking about
Ohhh, Rebecca. I am so sorry.
So sorry, Julie. Thinking of you today.
Julie, reading this I'm so sorry all over again. My thoughts are with you.
Crying at my desk, and thinking of you today.
I can't believe it's already been two years. So much has happened in my own life since then (including three miscarriages and one wonderful live birth) and your blog has been both comforting and amusing through it all.
You're very lucky to have been born to such a loving father. As cheesy as it sounds, he lives on through what he's given you - your sense of humor, your insight, and, most importantly, your kick-ass parenting skills. Not a bad legacy.
I am sorry for your heart break, Julie. I am glad you have your treasured memories and pictures in your heart. Remember that the best parts of him, through his love and your time and experiences of him, live on in you and your kids. I am sure he would be so pleased to know that your children's joy of the circus was enhanced by your memories of doing the same thing with him. Someday, they will be taking their little ones to the circus, and they too will laugh and clap their hands. Peace and Love.
I'm so sorry about your father. A friend of mine shared your blog with me (Charlie's birth story, since I had pre-e this year and delivered my baby girl by emergency c-section at 28 weeks) and then had to read your whole blog as a result. You've had so much loss in the last few years, and so much gain (Charlie and Ben.) Thanks for sharing all of it. :)
a beautiful tribute. i'm so sorry.
It's a beautiful, gorgeous, piercing tribute to your dad, and to this whole parenting thing, and it sucks so very bad that you had the occasion to write it. I am so sorry, again.
Remembering your dad with you, obviously a giant of a man.
I'm so sorry for your loss. What a moving piece of writing.
Thinking of you and of your dad, today.
Oh sweetie, I think about you guys this time every year. It's a beautiful post on an awful subject.
What a beautiful post. Thinking of you.
You're in my heart today.
You're in my heart today.
I cried two years ago when I read about your dad. Selfish tears, knowing I'd be in the same shoes shortly, and sure enough, within a month my mom was gone. I'm moving into my first home, the first big change in my life to happen that my mom won't share. Two years ago, and again today, your words paved a road for me. It's not the same road, but then you gave me an inkling of what to come, and now you've expressed what I'm not quite articulate enough to say. Thank you.
Oh Julie. I'm thinking of you.
What a beautiful post. Thinking of you and sending good wishes your way.
Thinking of you today, and crying for the loss of a wonderful man.