Ich vermisse dich, Dad! (I miss you, Dad)
Handsome fella, eh. That's my dad. My dad and my mom, to be precise, in St. Goar, Germany in the early 1970s.
Dad died two years ago on April 10th, which was this past Saturday. As I did last year, I spent a few days conflicted, trying to figure out just what/if/how I am supposed to mark the occasion. I don't live near family with whom I can gather to share the memories over a cup of coffee, which sounds like the best and most comforting way. I'm nowhere near the cemetery, so I can't visit his grave, and I'm not religious, so going to church or praying doesn't have the same meaning or provide solace for me as it may for others.
But as I was trying to think of "a way" to mark the date, it struck me that maybe I don't have to. Maybe it's enough that I think of him all the time, not in a "he's looking down on me" kind of way, but more just a strong presence that found me while he was sick and in the hospital and hasn't really left since he died. I don't ask for his guidance on matters or try to speak with him in any way, but I just feel him there and often find myself thinking...hmmm....I wonder what would dad have thought of this?
In the few years prior to my dad's death, my parents were able to travel some to visit family in different parts of the county (one of the advantages to us all being scattered throughout the US). In 2006, they visited me in California when I graduated with my masters degree and on that trip we went out for lovely dinner in San Francisco at the well-known restaurant, Farallon. My dad took in the entire menu and finally settled on a dish of Opa, a fish I had never heard of and I don't think he had either, which was precisely why he wanted to try it.
Sounds reasonable enough, but I remember being really surprised. I had never pegged my father for the adventurous type, regarding food or otherwise. He liked hamburger meat and mashed potatoes, potato chips and popcorn. I didn't even know he liked fish! Fishsticks, maybe, but fish?! Opa?? Truth is, I never really thought of my dad as existing much beyond my known world of house and home and family and I didn't really start to know him until the last few years of his life. Sure, I knew him as my dad, but I didn't know him as a person, as an individual, until much later in life.
Come to find out, my dad did indeed have a love for going new places, experiencing new things, and trying new foods. So, when I think to myself....hmmm, I wonder what dad would think of me moving to Vienna, I think back to that dinner at Farallon and I know that he would be thrilled. And when I wonder what I can do to honor his memory, I realize that just embarking on this adventure with Kiefer is paying homage in some way to my relatively new found understanding of him as an individual and not just my father. While I can't exactly say that I'm doing it "for him," I know that he would be so proud and excited for me. I only wish he were around to come visit us there once we're settled.
But you can be sure that I'll enjoy all the wienerschnitzel, apfelstrudel and sachre tort I can, just for him.
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