I was sorting through my pile of clothes today, and came across this hat. It's life has long passed, and it isn't even wearable anymore. And every time I throw it away, i end up going back to the trash and take it back out. I have another hat similar to it, that is still wearable. (Its the hat you all probably see on my head all the time) I am sure I will go through the same thing when this hat is threadbare and ripping apart at the seems.
There is nothing particularly special about the hat itself. Its just a camo hat. Like every other one out there. It has a couple stains on it, smells funky on warm days (I do wash it when it gets like that). The value of this hat for me, is the memories associated with it.
In about a month, it will be 9 years since my dad passed. Some days it seems so long ago. Others, like today, the hurt and the missing him feel just like it did when I woke up the morning after he passed. In these 9 years though, I have come to understand my father so much more fully. I think that happens to fathers and sons when the sons have sons of their own. I just wish he was here so I could tell him "Dad, I see you. I get you. And I'm sorry."
So back to the hats. I used to take the kids to Bass Pro Shops every now and then. Just to get out. Just to see the latest and greatest outdoor stuff. To play the arcade games, and make big plans about the camping trips we would go on, and which tents we would want. This time, my father wanted to come. He was in a wheelchair at the time, as this was after his leg amputation. I knew he wasn't up for it-it was an hour drive. But I wasn't going to tell him no. So we got to his house to pick him up, and he was insisting that HE use his slide board, and HE got into the car on his own. I think part of it was he wanted to be strong in front of the kids, and show them he was ok. I think the other part was he wanted to show me. He saw the look on my face. It wasn't pitty, and I hope he knew that. I was hurting for him. My heart felt his struggles. And now, with struggles of my won coming to terms with my limitations, I remember his strength and l determination. So we drove to our destination. Stopped at Dunkin for some coffee, and laughed and joked with the kids the whole way there.
It was a fun trip. He kicked the boys' asses at the hunting arcade, which no doubt elevates him higher to my boys. (He wasn't just my hero and my brother's hero, he was my sons' hero as well.)
It was during this trip that I bought these 2 hats. This was to be the last outing we would take with my father. He died later that year. And I have had one of these hats on since. I had one fly out the window this past summer. And I cried. Wasn't cause I lost the hat. It was because I felt like I was losing 1 of the last pieces of my dad I had left. (Yes, I got it back. Mark pulled over on the side of the road on our way back so I could get it.) It was in trying to explain to Mark why I was so upset, that I realized something. I was holding on to thing associated with my dad because I never really made peace with his passing. I wasn't ready for him to leave. We were just finding our relationship. I still needed him. So in some way, these things helped me feel like I was still holding on to him in some way. I still have a set of his truck keys that I have thrown away a few times as well. (I don't think he knows I know, but I am pretty sure Mark took them out of the trash once too)
I remembered this saying that was told to me. I used to work for a Macedonian family in their deli. After a death in the family, the patriarch of the family, Jovan, told me "Dimitry, the dead belong with the dead. But the living- they belong with the living." I dismisses it as part of his old world charm and wisdom, and never gave it much thought. But that resonates with me so much now. Grief is a paralyzing thing sometimes. Its lonely. Its exhausting. And it has no time frame. But if we get caught up in the loss, its easy for parts of us to die. Life is still going on. Death is a very real, very constant part of life.
I've learned that dwelling on loss, getting stuck in grief, keeps you in this weird in between space. Life and living is muddled, and death is always on the mind. I keep those words in my mind always. "But the living-they belong with the living." That is exactly how my father would have wanted it to be. You have to live while you are still living.
I will miss my dad until I see him again. That's a given. And he was such a huge presence in this family. But I am still alive. And I know in my heart, all the turmoil and sadness and insanity he experienced in his life is gone. I hope he is spending his time fishing in the next life. He loved that.
And I will keep the hats, even after I can't wear them. And I still have his truck keys to a truck that doesn't exist anymore. But not because they are a shrine to his death, but as a way to honor the life he lived when he was here, and keep his memory and all the great memories we have, alive.
The living belong with the living.
