It is Sunday morning. Today is the ninth Sunday since my father’s passing.  Every Sunday since his passing starts out the same.  I wake up, maybe from a dream about him, and immediately feel the void.  It’s strange how it is most potent on Sundays.  He died on a Saturday night, but I didn’t know until the next day, that West Coast - East Coast thing.  So it probably isn’t that strange. Now every Sunday starts out the same and feels the same all day long.  I don’t have the distractions of the intermittent weekday Zoom meeting or occasional FaceTime appointment.  Sundays are tough.  It’s why I haven’t been writing.  

Today’s Sunday is a little more potent.  It happens to be Mother’s Day, another event that comes and goes without a phone call, text, or mailed note.  That feeling you have throughout the day, throughout your day, something is missing.  Someone is missing.  Someone you loved very much.  It’s going to be THAT kind of year, the year of withouts. It’s how we tell time this year.  Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The first one was a big one.  Vince graduated from Ranger School a week before my Dad passed.  Had he been able to acknowledge it, my father would have.  I know Chloe whispered in his ear, “Grandpa, Vince is a Ranger and he loves you” so at least he knew it. We were fortunate enough to see Vince graduate before COVID-19 stopped life as we know it and the whole time I imagined how proud my father would have been to witness it. Tick.  His youngest grandson and his 16th grandchild, Brock, turned 14 without a note to “Brock the Rock” or that sweet voice singing “Happy Birthday” inevitably with his own spice. Tick.  Vince turned 24 without the typical note stating “be good to your mom” or “stay out of trouble.”  Tick.  His 90th birthday was May 1st (or May 2nd, depending on if you are looking at his license or talking to him).  Another challenging day.  Tick. And now today, I celebrate Mother’s Day without his phone call.  I know I wasn’t his mom, but he was that kind of Dad. Always acknowledging those moments and achievements, even if Hallmark invented it.  He thought I was a good mom.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  He let me know it.  Tick.

 I’ve saved quite a few voicemails over the past two years, you know, in preparation for the years of withouts.  In theory, I planned to play them on those special days or when I just want to hear his voice.  I have them for Brock and Vince from last year, but couldn’t bring myself to hit play.  Probably selfish of me.  It’s just too raw, too soon. Other words that come to mind - painful, torturous, gut-wrenching, just to name a few.  It’s one thing for me to experience these days of withouts.  It’s another thing for my children to have to experience them.

Next week Paige graduates from college.  In the unprecedented time of COVID-19, her celebration will be without the fanfare every graduate before her, has experienced.  Her siblings can’t be there, her friends can’t be there and yes, she won’t get that note from her grandpa, telling her how proud he is of her. While she has all those other feelings she has to process, she can add that other feeling.  Those voicemails I’ve saved don’t cover this one.  Tick.  

But this is normal.  It’s healthy to have these feelings.  Yes, you feel them, you “process” them.  I know, I know.  What it isn’t is easy. I’ve read all kinds of books, some of which should help with this one.  But like a therapist once told me, “you’ve got to go through it to get through it.” I’m trying.  There is no other side of this though.  Of course, it becomes less painful.  I already know that, unfortunately, this is a familiar path.  Luckily, without steady work, I have all kinds of time to “process” this.   Yes, lucky me.

So, I’m taking an online watercolor class to dull the pain.  This also isn’t easy but at least it isn’t painful and I love it.  It’s my meditation.  Some might call it something else - my escape, distraction, addiction, obsession.  Different brushes show up in my mailbox (“Yay, I got the #4 Round”).  A big outing to Michael’s (curbside of course) for new paint or paper (not the expensive kind….yet).  Perusing the internet for the next thing that I just have to have (“Ooh, what’s a Lightbox?”).   I guess it could be worse.  Yeah, it could be a lot worse.  A healthy obsession you might say. Something else my Dad will miss out on.  I won’t be an artist, but I would have shared my work with him and he would have claimed he loved it and encouraged me.  That’s the kind of Dad I had, the one I miss. The other day, when I was painting, I contemplated this fact. I thought “Daddy, show me a sign you know I’m painting.”  Just then, a reminder on my phone flashed “Daddy’s Birthday Tomorrow May 1.” He’s with me, just not literally.  Every single day I miss him, but today more than most.  I have my family, friends and now I have watercolor to get through this. Just like learning to watercolor, it’s a daily process. Some days harder than others. It will be ok and so will my painting. Tick. Tick. Tock.