Every year I write something somewhere—usually somewhere online—about my father on the anniversary of his death. This is very much a selfish act as my father was a private person who did not enjoy people knowing stuff about him. Today he has been dead nine years and I am sort of at a loss about what to write. One of the many really sad things about a loved person being dead is that the relationship stops evolving and growing—there are no new stories to tell. Sometimes I dig up a forgotten anecdote, or sometimes I come to a new understanding or angle on something I had previously thought I had summed up, but that’s the best I can do. Unless I grow in my understanding of our relationship, it stops. That is very depressing, and a lot of responsibility.
Recently I had been thinking I was forgetting my father’s voice—I don’t have any recordings of it that I know of, and nine years is a long time. And then I had a dream in which he was speaking and I could hear what he sounded like and now I will remember for a while longer, until I start to forget again. I know how it goes. He wasn’t saying much of anything in the dream, just standing in front of the closet in my childhood bedroom and murmuring about some chore he meant to do, but I was able to get his timbre, which is what I wanted.
As most people know, my father was a university professor and by all accounts a good one though he forbade me to ever accompany him to class, although I asked many times. He was a good explainer and I am sure it was from him I developed my lifelong affection for having things explained things to me. I think about Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages more than I should—it’s a dumb book but a strong concept, just only takes about 10 pages to explain and the rest of the book is filler (that’s the story for a lot of self-help books!) I truly think my love language is having things explained to me—it’s such generous, helpful thing to do, and also shows a lot of personality and intelligence in how you explain things. My father was great at it, well-researched and enthusiastic and patient. Sometimes I get upset when people don’t want to explain things to me, recent events in Iran or children’s fashion or how a garbage disposal works (people = Mark) because why wouldn’t you, if you loved me? MANY people find it baffling that I do not like to google things. In truth, I will google things if I have to but if I don’t have to I would prefer not because it is nicer to have a person who cares tell me (and so I guess I’ll just never know how a garbage disposal works—or a kind reader of this post could write and tell me???)
And this, I suppose is a way in which my dad lives on, in my quirky behaviour. I guess that is a weird way to honour him but it’s the best I have this year. I have mentioned in the past that every year of mourning is different and this one is a sadder, heavier one for some reason. Hug your people, friends.
