Still Pushing

My father died in May of ’94. Twenty years ago, last month. And the one constant memory of the hazy days around his funeral was the cruel torture of Father’s Day ads.

Shopping for a black dress for the funeral.

And sitting there, next to the register, “Did you remember Dad?”

Even now Father’s day ads haunt me. Seem just a little cruel.

And listening to Tori Amos’ “Winter” today I had another memory come to mind.

A few months after he died I had a dream so vivid I still remember it in real-life detail now. My Dad and I were shopping in a grocery store. We were pushing a giant cart so big that we stood side by side pushing it. And we kept putting more and more stuff into it. And even with both of us pushing, it was getting hard to handle. And then, he stopped, and looked at me with tears glistening in his eyes and said, “I’m sorry honey, I can’t help you anymore.” And I protested that it was far too heavy for me. And he said, “ I wanted so much to help you, but I can’t anymore. I’m so sorry”

And then he disappeared.

So those are my thoughts today. I don’t think my burdens are any lighter. And I still really wish he were here to help. But maybe I’m stronger for it. I often think that people whom others see as strong aren’t necessarily stronger. That it’s just the human need for survival. Being weak takes safety and support. I’ve never had the option to be weak.  I fight on because I have to. I keep pushing that grocery cart because I have to. But I don’t think that that makes me stronger or better than anyone else. My life has just been different.
I don’t know. The thoughts are incomplete.

But I’m thinking of you Daddy.

And I’m still pushing.