Don't Look Back

 

Taken on Christmas Eve, ^ this is the last picture I got of my dad. He was never a big fan of posing for pics, so I'm glad he obliged here. My niece and mom said "Cheese" with gusto while dad was quiet. The cancer was getting increasingly painful. I think he knew it might be his last Christmas. That worry was in the back of my mind as I captured this image. 

When we gathered for Christmas at my brother's house the next day, I didn't coax the family into a group pic, dad in front. I regret that... Dad handed out a $100 bill to his kids, grandchildren, and my sister-in-law's son and his girlfriend. With a diagnosis of what turned out to be terminal cancer, his energy depleting, he was generous to the end. He kept his tradition of giving, putting his family before himself on his final Christmas. 

I cry a few times a week thinking about him. The job I have now requires constant motion, so I can kind of use the grief as kinetic energy--but I still cry a good amount. 

If you've ever seen Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul, you know Mike Ehermantraut, the bald and stoic tough old man who fixes problems (sometimes violently) for the Gus Fring criminal empire. Mike does ruthless things, but his character is redeemed by his relationship with his granddaughter. Watching a lot of Saul on Netflix, every time he shares a moment with the little girl, reading her a book before bedtime or quizzing her on elementary math, I tear up. It shreds my chest cavity thinking that my dad's not around to cherish his 2 grandkids anymore. 

Today I slept in way too late. I found that my brother and niece were visiting my mom in my temporary home here. I was embarrassed by the time of day. I spotted a small baseball glove on the living room floor, with a softball inside. Wanting to make amends for wasting too many hours of sunlight on a sunny Sunday, I got my glove from the garage. My niece accepted my offer to play catch with me in the backyard.  

We tossed the ball back and forth, about 15 feet apart. I lofted the ball as soft as I could, aiming for her outstretched glove. She dropped more than she caught, but she's improving. Sometimes she wanted to switch up the routine by "fielding grinders." I laughed and told her it's "grounders." 

I got that shredded feeling in my chest cavity. A mental image came to me. Dad was behind me lounging on the patio, leaning back in a lawn chair, watching us. In my mind's eye, I saw him--wearing sunglasses and his Brewers hat. Relaxed in his upright posture, smiling his thin, understated, genuine smile. He was watching the 2 of us toss the ball back and forth. 

I became choked up saying something like "You don't have to be afraid of the ball. I know you can catch it, every time." 

In reality, the back patio was deserted. I didn't want to turn around. The image remained vivid. On the verge of tears, I was seeing 2 people/ 2 perspectives at once. 

I thought to myself: "Don't look back. Don't look back."