“I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.” ― Banksy
The family had the opportunity to meet for the July 4th holiday. It was fun, relaxing, and a memorable time with my loved ones.
But, of course, some one was missing.
My dad was a big part of every vacation spent “up north.” We see traces of him everywhere. I’m happy we have this place filled with memories of him, his sister and his parents.
In 2001, Rick and I lived in Edgewater, Maryland. Making the trip up north wasn’t as easy since we lived 10 hours away from the Detroit area. However, my dad had taken my Aunt Ariel back home as her last wish and we wanted to spend some time with them.
Ariel had been diagnosed with cancer the year before, at age 80. She moved into a home we shared with my Dad and Brandon in order to receive better medical care in the metro-Detroit area. I was living in Maryland so I was only around one week a month. Dad became Ariel’s round the clock caretaker. He went beyond what any brother would do. After Ariel’s leg was amputated, he helped nurse her back to health. When the cancer returned, he honored her last request and moved with her to Huron Beach for her final months. She died in December 2001.
Last Saturday we buried my dad.
As soon as we left the cemetery, Rick and I went home and packed to go up north. I thought I would be swamped with memories when I first saw the house. After all, Dad had lived there until we made him move down to an apartment nearer to us. But I really felt the loss more on the trip up to the house.
I pictured being about 10 years old, or younger, sitting in the back seat with him driving the family up north for vacation. I remembered seeing the scene through my 10-year-old viewpoint. My brother sat next to me in the back seat, behind my dad. My mom was in the front passenger seat. I remember looking over the seat through the front windshield at the highway ahead. I also remember feeling that we were a family, a happy family, and our vacation was ahead of us.
The pain this memory caused was tangible. How many years ago was that vacation? How many decades? More than I care to remember. I only know that the time seemed to flash by in an instant. And now I was making the same trip up north that we had so many times. Only today it was after burying my father next to my mother.
Time goes on. But it takes some getting used to.