I take the Greyhound bus along the road you traveled to see me just a year ago.
It was a long trip for such a sick man, the grandchild in the back seat with computer football game ‘beeping’ all the way. You said --- “I thought he’d get tired of it but he never did!”
The thermostat on my oven had broken and burned the beautiful fresh turkey but you didn’t care.
You had come to my house, as you would say later, knowing you would probably never come again. You loved my house which made me so happy; I did too. The day after Thanksgiving, I found you in my kitchen with all my cupboards open wide --- just checking, making sure your daughter would never starve.
I think of your nervousness waiting for Jim and Casey to pick you up, your normal nervousness about the weather, would it snow on your way down? --- A long trip, 7-hours at best and you a nervous driver and worse passenger always. And, you worried whether you brought the right kind of wine (you had spent a long time asking opinions in the wine shop but, still, you worried). We are such worriers, both of us --- wanting so to please, wanting everybody to be happy, to make it all work. Yeah, wanting to make it work.
In the back of Jim’s station wagon, there were so many brown paper bags full of food that it looked like you thought they didn’t have food in Philadelphia, though you were not eating much by now.
Pumpkins lie sunken and rotting in the fields and I wonder which farm houses you might have seen just a year ago today. But, I pray that you didn’t see the deer hanging in back yards, you who loved animals so, deer our special family bond.
The hills are golden beige at this time of year, a bit of snow dusts the leafless trees --- a barren but beautiful landscape.
Today I wanted to be between where I once lived with you, my only father, and where I now make my home. I wanted to be between all the turkey dinners and fun banter of jostling tables in both cities. I wanted to ride the route you took to my home for that one last brave time and to celebrate who you were ---
Your generosity of spirit, your inestimable kindness and consideration, your shyness with affection --- the kind of kiss you gave me the last so many years of your life --- putting your two fingers to your lips, then, putting your fingers to my cheek.
I give those fingertip kisses to my friends now and tell them why and where it came from. And, I always add --- “My Dad didn’t go in for big displays of affection but you always knew he loved you; there was no doubt, no, no doubt.”
Thank you, Ollie Kane. Thank you so.
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