It doesn't seem like the loss of my father will ever heal. Every day there are reminders of how important he was to me. Every day, there seems to be triggers that initiate a paroxysm of grief (not really outwardly seen, but an inner earthquake of grief), whether it be a memory of things that we did together, that we no longer have the chance to do. Or whether it is sadness at things that he no longer has the chance to do, like hold his only granddaughter; one that he said that he wanted. Storm will never have the opportunity to know her Grandfather except by word of mouth from her two oldest brothers and myself. Even Jamie never really got the chance to know his grandpa either since he was only 8 1/2 months old when my father passed away. The two oldest were actually the only two who got a chance to really spend some quality time with their grandpa.
For me, all the times that I spent with my dad during my younger years; the weekends where he and I would go gardening together (he had a contract gardening business on the side where he'd go around to different customers and do the lawns and gardens (trimming, fertilizing, edging...and other things)). It may have been laborious work, but it was also meaningful in that he and I were able to spend time together.
I remember when I went into college music and he joined the community chorus just so we could share the opportunity of actually being able to do something together in our shared passion of music. My father sung with the Vancouver Bach Choir, the professional chorus during the 60s (before I was born) and he loved and cherished the opportunity to sing with me in the Douglas College Choral Society and Community Chorus. We did some wonderful pieces that year and the most fun times that my father and I had were driving home from rehearsals (Monday nights), singing all the way home from New Westminster to Maple Ridge.
I remember that he used to take me to the Abbotsford International Airshow, many times during the 80s. No matter how much he protested saying that "Hmmmph...all these things just warplanes...not good..." he would never fail to take me, because he knew that brought me enjoyment and that's what counted to him. I think the first time I drive to the Abbotsford Airshow since his passing with my sons and daughter (when the youngest are old enough to appreciate the airshow for what it is and not get frightened by the noise) and my wife, I probably am going to have a lump in my throat from the memories of the times that my father and I spent at the Airshow.
Above all, I remember the pride that my father had in me when I started showing promise (late in life) in photography. For the longest time, he never knew what it was that I was good at. In music, I felt like a square peg in a round hole. There was always someone with perfect pitch or with a more innate understanding of music. There was a sense of inadequacy. Sure I could sing well, but there really was nothing more to it. I can understand the frustration of my teachers: John Glofcheskie, Dr. Kevin Barrington-Foote, and Tatsuo Hoshina, because I just would not take music seriously and part of it was my failure to understand the basic tenets of music. It was not something that came naturally to me. Photography on the other hand, I seem to be able to pick up concepts and I study it with the fervor that was missing to me in the study of music.
I only have memories now of my father and how good he really was to me. I see the love for me in his eyes in the images of him holding me as an infant. What is sad is that there are no other pictures of me with him alone, other than those infant pictures and then me alone with him on the ferry as a man, during the time when we both took our wives to Victoria and our mutual friend Worapol Taksinrote took a picture of me alone with my Dad. There never were really a whole bunch of pictures taken of me with my dad, so all I have is memories. I just wish that there comes a time when those memories won't cause tears but will bring in their place, smiles.
But for now, even 7 and a half months down the road, the pain of losing him is just too raw.
No comments:
Post a Comment