November 24, 2018
Not a day can go by without me thinking of you, just some days seem to go by easier than others. It’s been two years, since you left … some days seems like only yesterday other times just seems so long ago. One of your gifts to me was our family name and the stories you shared with me from childhood onward. Your stories still make me smile and fill my heart with contentment. Maybe this is where I have been given the gift of storytelling, but I do it so much better writing than telling. There are days I wish I could hear you share just one, any one of them, once again. For now, the sun’s warmth brings me comfort of your presence. Eventually, my darkest dreary days were conquered by the sun shining strongly, giving reasons to be grateful for another day to rejoice life. On this anniversary, I flashback to a typical day vividly reliving a few of the countless cherished memories, which bring me more smiles than tears. They helped stitch the fabric of healing all within a time I can call my own.
One of my fondest childhood memories was weekend mornings when I awoke to the smells of you making breakfast. Slowly frying “kolbasz” or “szalonna” splattering all over the stove and then sautéing hot peppers and onions in the one frying pan Mom doesn’t want you to use. Just before pouring the beaten eggs over the mixture, together, we enjoyed the first bites of breakfast by mopping up some of the “zsÃr” with a slice of hearty Magyar “kenyér.” Another is the countless trips to the local airport, sitting in the car at the foot of the runway, watching those silver birds revving up their engines, as the whining sounds grew, they prepared for take offs to destinations which I guessed at. The smell of jet fuel and burnt rubber encrusted into the runway with each plane touching down on the runway still doesn’t answer my timeless question “how does it fly?” Ending the day, we’d often stop at McDonald’s for a Big Mac and then to the hobby shop and admired the radio controlled planes, model trains and all the toys on this boy’s continuously growing wish list.
Into my teens, you continually emphasized the importance of me to do the very best I can in school, doing well was just not enough and believe me some subjects doing my best was just barely getting by. Your reasoning was so I would not to have to work physically as hard as you did and that I could have a more productive life filled with things you were never able to give me. I know we had our challenges, some classes more than others, especially the ones where I despised the subject matter as much as the teacher. When I finally completed my final degree, you were probably relieved in that you didn’t have to try to show me how to solve or explain to another one of Mr. Doig’s math problems. I remember the many frustrating nights you trying to explain to me on how to solve the problem. Your explanation, was like staring into a puzzle box of filled with a thousand pieces of the same color and size, in which I comprehended nothing and all I could do was to hope that I passed the test. I am certain when I finally walked for my high school graduation you stood tall and proud. When it was time to graduate with my subsequent degrees, I felt it was nothing but a waste of my time and my money to walk for any one of my three degrees. I know you were standing each time just a little taller and much prouder of me than the last.
As an adult, I miss your excitement you felt every spring, when it was time to get ready to head to the cottage. It’s even more nostalgic than I thought, when I see posts on social media of cottages opening for another summer in Muskoka. I miss the carefree summers on the dock or porch at the cottage and just enjoying the whispering winds and our casual conversations. I regret I didn’t get to enjoy them with you as I grew older but my career seemed to hinder the number of days I was able to get away. Do you remember the time I called you from the porch telling you how I wish I could celebrate your birthday with you? The surprised look on your face was priceless when I walked up to you while you were talking to me on the phone as if I was still at home in Florida?
Every time I hear and see advertisements for cruises or someone mentions a cruise, I fondly remember the magnificent moments we shared on two bucket list vacations. The emotions we both felt seeing the majestic mountains and glaciers of Alaska to soaring the canopies of the Costa Rican rainforests and the grandeur of the Panama Canal. We were both in awe of both natural and man-made wonder what was before our eyes. In all my travels, it was these two of the most memorable trips and was elated in that I was able to share them with you.
When visiting Mom, I still see you sitting in your recliner with KC wrapped up in your gray sweater. Mom and I share stories (of both laughter and tears), share a meal together (no Big Macs just yet) or watch a favorite television show of yours together, with KC curled up on your sweater as if you just tucked her into her favorite spot. The little things which remind me of you; the bird singing its morning song in the backyard, seeing a vintage car passing me unexpectedly or me doing something foolishly and hearing your voice or laughter at my clumsiness. Again, the sun’s warmth reminds me you are still with me.
Giving away your prized possession, your beloved Mustang, was much like letting go of you again. Countless times I opened the kitchen door to the garage hoping to see you with it completely restored to its original luster. Even thinking you may have went for a drive around town but then with the blink of an eye, I realize you are no longer here and it was only a dream. When the flatbed tow truck with the fully loaded Mustang pulled out of the driveway and took the left on to the street, I know, I saw you, smiling and waving from the driver’s seat. Letting go of the Mustang, allowed me to accept you not only being gone, but that I will see you again.
I’ve learned sometimes the best thing that you can do is not to think, not to wonder, not imagine and not obsess. Just breathe and have faith that everything happens for a reason and that over time everything will work out for the best. You’ve always told me to be true to myself and to always do the best in all that I do. As you continue to look down on me, I hope I continue to make you proud of the man I am and continue to become. As I close out my post, I hear radio in the background playing last lines of “The Cat’s in the Cradle” sung by Harry Chapin,
“When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then, Dad.
We're gonna have a good time then.”
Only reminding me once again as tears flood my eyes and tears begin rolling down my face, as I too, will see you again Dad, “majd”, not today, not tomorrow, but later.
One of my fondest childhood memories was weekend mornings when I awoke to the smells of you making breakfast. Slowly frying “kolbasz” or “szalonna” splattering all over the stove and then sautéing hot peppers and onions in the one frying pan Mom doesn’t want you to use. Just before pouring the beaten eggs over the mixture, together, we enjoyed the first bites of breakfast by mopping up some of the “zsÃr” with a slice of hearty Magyar “kenyér.” Another is the countless trips to the local airport, sitting in the car at the foot of the runway, watching those silver birds revving up their engines, as the whining sounds grew, they prepared for take offs to destinations which I guessed at. The smell of jet fuel and burnt rubber encrusted into the runway with each plane touching down on the runway still doesn’t answer my timeless question “how does it fly?” Ending the day, we’d often stop at McDonald’s for a Big Mac and then to the hobby shop and admired the radio controlled planes, model trains and all the toys on this boy’s continuously growing wish list.
Into my teens, you continually emphasized the importance of me to do the very best I can in school, doing well was just not enough and believe me some subjects doing my best was just barely getting by. Your reasoning was so I would not to have to work physically as hard as you did and that I could have a more productive life filled with things you were never able to give me. I know we had our challenges, some classes more than others, especially the ones where I despised the subject matter as much as the teacher. When I finally completed my final degree, you were probably relieved in that you didn’t have to try to show me how to solve or explain to another one of Mr. Doig’s math problems. I remember the many frustrating nights you trying to explain to me on how to solve the problem. Your explanation, was like staring into a puzzle box of filled with a thousand pieces of the same color and size, in which I comprehended nothing and all I could do was to hope that I passed the test. I am certain when I finally walked for my high school graduation you stood tall and proud. When it was time to graduate with my subsequent degrees, I felt it was nothing but a waste of my time and my money to walk for any one of my three degrees. I know you were standing each time just a little taller and much prouder of me than the last.
As an adult, I miss your excitement you felt every spring, when it was time to get ready to head to the cottage. It’s even more nostalgic than I thought, when I see posts on social media of cottages opening for another summer in Muskoka. I miss the carefree summers on the dock or porch at the cottage and just enjoying the whispering winds and our casual conversations. I regret I didn’t get to enjoy them with you as I grew older but my career seemed to hinder the number of days I was able to get away. Do you remember the time I called you from the porch telling you how I wish I could celebrate your birthday with you? The surprised look on your face was priceless when I walked up to you while you were talking to me on the phone as if I was still at home in Florida?
Every time I hear and see advertisements for cruises or someone mentions a cruise, I fondly remember the magnificent moments we shared on two bucket list vacations. The emotions we both felt seeing the majestic mountains and glaciers of Alaska to soaring the canopies of the Costa Rican rainforests and the grandeur of the Panama Canal. We were both in awe of both natural and man-made wonder what was before our eyes. In all my travels, it was these two of the most memorable trips and was elated in that I was able to share them with you.
When visiting Mom, I still see you sitting in your recliner with KC wrapped up in your gray sweater. Mom and I share stories (of both laughter and tears), share a meal together (no Big Macs just yet) or watch a favorite television show of yours together, with KC curled up on your sweater as if you just tucked her into her favorite spot. The little things which remind me of you; the bird singing its morning song in the backyard, seeing a vintage car passing me unexpectedly or me doing something foolishly and hearing your voice or laughter at my clumsiness. Again, the sun’s warmth reminds me you are still with me.
Giving away your prized possession, your beloved Mustang, was much like letting go of you again. Countless times I opened the kitchen door to the garage hoping to see you with it completely restored to its original luster. Even thinking you may have went for a drive around town but then with the blink of an eye, I realize you are no longer here and it was only a dream. When the flatbed tow truck with the fully loaded Mustang pulled out of the driveway and took the left on to the street, I know, I saw you, smiling and waving from the driver’s seat. Letting go of the Mustang, allowed me to accept you not only being gone, but that I will see you again.
I’ve learned sometimes the best thing that you can do is not to think, not to wonder, not imagine and not obsess. Just breathe and have faith that everything happens for a reason and that over time everything will work out for the best. You’ve always told me to be true to myself and to always do the best in all that I do. As you continue to look down on me, I hope I continue to make you proud of the man I am and continue to become. As I close out my post, I hear radio in the background playing last lines of “The Cat’s in the Cradle” sung by Harry Chapin,
“When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then, Dad.
We're gonna have a good time then.”
Only reminding me once again as tears flood my eyes and tears begin rolling down my face, as I too, will see you again Dad, “majd”, not today, not tomorrow, but later.
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