The Sun and Gravitational Pull

I guess with my last post, I remain a little melancholy.

Also, with the anniversary of my father's death looming in the offing, it's easy for me to stay in a blue state of mind. The current situation with my friend makes it all the more evident that every moment of every day cannot be taken for granted. It is hard to remember that every second of the day, particularly at times like when Small Pants is standing in the kitchen screaming at the top of his lungs that he wants the BIG marshmallows, not the WIDDLE ones.

My father and I were very close. Before you get the whole "spoiled Daddy's girl" idea - it was not like that. My daddy was hard on me - he expected a lot from me and I would rather have died than to have disappointed him. He held me accountable for my mistakes and was very much a "you made your bed" kind of man. I never for a single second doubted that he loved me with all his heart and would have given his life for me.

We were spoiled from the aspect that we did attend private schools and went to lofty liberal arts colleges (sniff, sniff), but we, unlike some of our classmates, did not drive BMW's to school. In fact, I didn't have a car. My brother had one because he worked but I assure you, a Delta 88 was not quite the stylish ride he wished he had. I didn't work - I was far too busy playing ball - so I was sans automobile. We didn't get everything we wanted and we had to work for what we did get, but our lives were good and I would not change a thing about my childhood.

My daddy was a Superhero - ridiculously strong, incredibly smart, a great ballplayer, handsome and funny. There are so many similarities between him and Pants that it sometimes creeps me way out. Yeah, Go and have your fun with that, Freud. He played ball with me - he came to my games and encouraged me. He never ever said "You should do this or you should do that..." only "Good game." Even when I know I should have or could have played better.

I have so many memories that flood my mind for no reason - just small ones. Me sitting on the sink at about age 3 watching him shave. Barefoot at 5 in the hot sun picking blackberries and eating way more than I was putting in my bucket. I remember him just laughing at me and saying there wouldn't be enough for cobbler if I didn't stop. He always came up with ridiculous words for Scrabble. I remember the way he smelled on Sunday mornings in his suit and tie. I remember thinking how handsome he would look when the time would come to walk me down the aisle when I got married. Unfortunately, my brother had to take care of that for him because he passed away suddenly when I was 23.

I don't remember much about that entire week. It still is a fog. So many years later. I recall being overly concerned about stupid things - What was I going to wear? Can they bury him in the tie I gave him for Father's Day? Hey, look who came to the visitation! Crap that so did not matter. One thing that is crystal clear is how fractured and displaced my family became after he was gone. We splintered into so many different directions and it was so uncomfortable to be around each other that it was just easier not to be.

It wasn't until many years later, after we had all reckoned ourselves in our own ways with the loss and regrouped, that our reaction to his death was explained to me in a way that it all made sense. Every family has someone who plays the part of the Sun. They are the center of the family - the source of strength. Everyone else plays the part of the planets - who rotate on the axis around the Sun - held in their place by the gravitational pull. The Sun allows them to spin on their own little cycles, but keeps them on a straight and steady path. A course that is sure and certain and is guided by the Sun's strength. When the pull of the Sun is no longer, the planets have nothing locking them together - the cycle and rotation system is shattered and they spin about madly. Trying to retain some semblance of the course they used to have engrained in their mind, but without the steady hand guiding them, they find themselves wildly out of control.

This was where we stood a few months after my father's death. After the cloud of shock lifted and we had to go back to our lives. This is still where I feel I am sometimes. So much time has passed and yet so little healing has taken place. Not a day goes by that I do not miss my father, that I don't wish I could ask him a question or ask his opinion on something. I think the hardest thing is knowing how well he and Pants would have gotten along. And what a great Granddaddy he would have been to Medium and Small Pants.


But then there are times that I think that two men seated in my den drinking cold beers, farting and endlessly discussing the nuances of the infield fly rule may have been more than I could possibly stand.