The weekend found me taking that long drive back home to see my Mom. It is not long in distance at all, but long for me with the memory of that early morning phone call that sent me home 3 years ago. That day was the same as this Saturday with cold rain in the air, yellow leaves falling around me and the dark sky. This week will mark 3 years since my Dad slipped from this earth, with very little fuss at all really, it happened so quick with no warning at all that it left the rest of us stunned. This is the time of year I think of Dad the most.....his favourite time of year with all the colours of the trees is what he loved to paint the most.
Last year at this time my Mom was ready to let go of some of his things. The day was spent packing and folding clothes from every closet and dresser. The year before I spent time cleaning out his class room at the college where he was teaching art. I was not sure what this year would bring, but I knew it would be another bit of mt Dad being packed away.
Her list of chores were long, seems that when I think about how much goes into maintaining a home to keep it running smoothly there is always alot of jobs to be done. Jobs that Dad kept up with like every man of the house, but things she cannot do herself. So there were 4 sets of leaking taps fixed, furnace filters changed, sheds cleaned out, stain glass pictures hung, a new vacuum bag installed and 3 floors vacuumed, a fridge cleaned and many other odds and ends completed which was a full day's work.
The end of the day came as a surprise when she mentioned she would like my Dad's studio cleaned out. This was no easy task because I knew it was full. We always called it "Dad's messy studio" and trust me, mine is no different. Untouched for three years, the last painting still on the easel, paint tubes and brushes everywhere, 4 hours later the job was finished. Instead of sending his things to different places like in the past, these things came home with me.
Maybe it is the soul of the artist, but these are the things that connected the two of us together. The hours spent talking about art and working and painting together were the best times for me, we did what we both loved to do....... together.
It is my conclusion that when we lose someone, we don't lose them all at once, we seem to lose them in bits and pieces. Slowly but surely.
The scent of my father is gone from that house, no keys hanging at the back door, no shoes on the mat. I sit in his chair everytime I go home, and I always have the same feeling. I am absolutely stunned to find nothing where something has always been.
3 comments:
Cathy, I know the feeling about losing your Dad. I had the chore of cleaning out my parents house after my Dad passed away. My Mother had died six years earlier. It isn't an easy task and my heart goes out to you.
Reading this brought tears to my eyes, Cathy. I know how hard it is to let go of some of the things that our loved ones loved. But, of course, one thing you can always hold on to is the fact that your Dad lives on in you---in your artistic talent and in your memories of the precious time you and your Dad spent together. And how wonderful that you have the very tools he used to make his art! Now you can create beauty with them, just as he did. So, in a way, he lives on in your art, in your creative spirit, in the deepest part of your being.
Hi Cathy, I am visiting from Clara's corner. I sympathise with your loss as I have lost both my parents. Like you I got a phone call early one morning 15 years ago, my father had passed away. My Mom died with cancer 2 years ago.They are never gone completely while you have them in your thoughts and prayers. To be able to use things your father used is preserving his memory
best wishes
Peggy
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