I Wanted to Call You, But I Can’t

My sister & I have descended on dad’s place this holiday weekend. We’ve finally arrived at the task of sorting through the dishes and kitchen appliances before my dad moves to his condo. My dad has made it abundantly clear that he does not cook and has no plans of learning how, apart from heating up hot-dogs. The only ones cooking at his new place will be my sister and I (and probably my other half). We’ve made it clear, the kitchen (apart from the mugs & coffeepot) will be set to our specifications to ensure “flow” (something lacking at his current location). We got “the eyebrow” a few times for our insistence but I feel dad will give us lots of reign nonetheless.

We sorted through the “special” dishes before breakfast. Mom liked to collect depression glass. It’s something she remembered seeing & using at her grandparent’s house. She appreciated the colors and nostalgia of depression glass and when we went antiquing, it always caught her eye.

It felt odd sorting through things, even though I’ve been bracing myself for the past several months. My sister and I both picked an oil lamp from mom’s collection. A collection which was yet another nod to nostalgia of her grandparents lifestyle, the family farm in Nebraska (and all it’s accouterments), and a love for windmills. Also among the mix of items, I discovered a jar from my dad’s side of the family! It was quite a find for an amateur genealogist (me), especially since I thought everything from my dad’s side was lost to “The Great Clear-out of 1987”. (The year my grandma was moved from the family home to a one bedroom apartment).

As time passes, I am told, the loss of a parent is felt suddenly and unexpectedly. My sister shared one such occasion with me already. The passing of Gene Wilder was mine. Mom was a big fan of Gene Wilder. She loved his films and Blazing Saddles was a favorite. When I saw Gene Wilder had passed, I though, “Oh darn, Mom will be disappointed to hear this!”. A few days later I saw a YouTube video pop up of Mel Brooks’ interview on Jimmy Fallon‘s show. Yet another moment of “Oh, mom would like to see this!” as she was also a big fan of Mel Brooks. Each of these moments are little nasty reality checks. Things which I do not wish to feel, but will feel as time goes on. Damn it.