Wednesday's Child Is Full of Woe

Up early here ... 3:22 am ... next Wednesday is the one year anniversary of my father's death. I did it. I actually told them at work I was taking the day off. It's busy as hell there and a difficult time to take a day off, but in two years, three years, ten years, I'd be hard pressed to remember ANYTHING going on in my current office that seemed important compared to my dad's death. April 9th I'll remember. What emails got written on that day, what deadlines got met, what meetings took place ... will blow away in time like dust, just dust blowing across a road, a road that leads to a cemetery where the stones stand still and time is of another stony grey measure.

It was hard to ask for the day, but I know I need it. I asked my youngest sister to meet me that day for lunch. She turned me down. So be it. Everyone grieves in their own way. Or avoids grieving, although I think there is danger there. I'll ask my other sisters and brother to spend some time with me that day.

How will I spend that day -- a full, open Wednesday -- a found day -- a day where my heart might feel heavy -- or playful like a dolphin in surf -- surely more in alignment with my dad's earthly heart -- a rollicking, crazy, let's-have-fun-and-damn-them-all heart that had a rhumba beat -- maybe I'll go to the beach -- maybe to his old stomping ground New York City, stand with my feet planted on Madison Avenue and look for his garbardine suit and nice fedora hat rushing by to a advertising man's pitch meeting.

Maybe I'll drive up to Crane Beach and not talk to anyone. Maybe I'll cry. Maybe I don't know what I'll do, but I own a lovely, full, open, day, all for me to do whatever I want.