Childhood homes and visit with Dad

Before we headed to go see Theresa, the best friend had suggested that we drive around town and look at all the houses that I lived in throughout my childhood. Afterwards, we could swing by the cemetery to visit with dad. I had not planned on going to visit my dad, it is harder for me than I would like to admit. Being that it was almost Father's Day and that we were going to be in the area, I knew it would be best to stop by and say hi. We first decided to go look at the homes. The best friend has known me since I was two and is twelve years older than me. She has a great memory and knew exactly where the different houses were located. She took me to a few houses that I had a hard time remembering. Two stuck out in my mind.

I have a lot of memories of this house. My older brother and sister still lived at home before running off to college and having babies. I sometimes miss these moments when we were still a family. I remember a big cherry blossom tree in the front yard and would stare out the window for hours when it would "rain" pink petals. There was even a time when the brother brought his motorcycle in the living room for a photo shoot prop involving suggestively clothed ladies. He bribed me with cereal to never tell our mother. I kept that secret well into adulthood! My brother met his future wife while we lived there (now married 19 years). We also found out my sister was pregnant with her first child when we lived there (he is now 22!). Crazy how fast time goes by.

Building process 1983

2013

I do not have any memories of the above house. My father had it built right before I was born. He wanted to be able to give my mother a nice home to raise us kids. They separated when I was two and we quickly moved as the house was too large and expensive for my mother to handle on her own. He was proud of this house and all the work and effort he put into the making of it. I always said that one day I would love to buy it. However, it is considerably more now than what it was when he had it built.

After we drove around forever and stopped for lunch, we headed to the cemetery. I have been to the cemetery more times than I can count. Every time I drive through the entrance, tears form in my eyes. Something weird happened this time though. I didn't cry. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I have been visiting my father at the cemetery for more than half of my life and I am only twenty nine. It almost seems normal for me to place flowers on his tombstone and talk to him like he is sitting there with me. My father lives at the cemetery and that is where I go to visit with him. As awful as that may be, it seems normal after all of these years. Instead of feeling sorrow, I felt happy to be able to see his tombstone with his picture and know that he was looking down on me in that moment. It never gets better, but eventually it gets a little easier to live with. It only took me eighteen long years to get to this point.