#tbt I had written the post linked under this introduction a year after my dad’s death.
Today, 7 years since his passing, instead of Paris, it is Bonjour from Montreal – where today’s snowfall covers the ground, trees and car-hoods….Yes, my New York friends – enjoy those soft pink cherry blossoms, those joyous tulips, daffodils and bluebells and that lovely Spring weather you have down there – there is still snow in Canada! 😅
The strange aspect about the gap, la distance des années from a loved one’s death is that the years make their absence sting more in some weird way.
They say time heals – and indeed, time certainly heals the initial shock and pain of loss….but time also simply seems to increase the chasm from the moments you last heard their voice, saw them in person, hugged them or held them….and that distance of their tangible, tactile existence just keeps growing more with each passing year….in this case objects in the rear view mirror keep appearing further away.
Everyone loses their parents at some point – it is but an inevitable cycle of life, and it’s extra painful for those who lost a parent when they were only a child. So the death of a parent is such an inevitable part of all humans and animals, that in some ways it is even silly to mourn the fact itself, because it is what it is. I mean it is normal to feel sad and miss, but death of someone older is a definite given as aging occurs….and while my dad died in his 70s, for those who pass away in their 90s – that’s a good run worth celebrating.
But the most poignant part perhaps that sends a pang much more is that we don’t really tell our parents (especially if they are/were good parents) how much they mean/meant to us when they were/are alive….I certainly hadn’t. I always presumed, foolishly – partly because he was SO full of life – that he would make it past 80…perhaps it is much harder to imagine the death of extremely animated people…the stillness and finality of death seems almost contrary to their natural state of existence.
Go on and do it, i.e. tell them what they mean to you….or like me someday, you will wish you had told them more that you loved them and how grateful you were/are to them for having given you the gift of life itself and for having raised you.
Do it before you wax poetic or rather wax nostalgic on a blog….instead blab away on the phone/skype or better still in person and let them know how much you love and appreciate them.
From Montreal with love – m
Paris. France. April 9, 2013. I have been travelling through various cities in Europe since mid-March, both for work and rest. This post is written from my current city – Paris; sitting right next to the steps of Square Caulaincourt, Rue Lamarck, Montmartre.
While in later posts, I shall post pictures from the travels, today marks the first death anniversary of my father, who passed away due to a sudden swift heart attack last year. Youthful, hyper-active and conspicuously full of life – he remained that way right up till the very end – bursting with frank, undiplomatic outspoken chutzpah, never afraid to call a spade a spade, and so vibrant that friends, neighbours and his loved ones still miss his vivacity and near-comical foot-in-mouth well-intended but bluntly-phrased verbal gaffes even today.
This morning I had a long talk with my mother – my parents had eloped and got married in their 20s and remained…
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