Why do public places include the song River by Joni Mitchell on their Christmas rotations along with Frosty the Snowman and Jingle Bell Rock? Don't get me wrong, I love the song. I still remember the Robert Downey Jr cover on Ally McBeal that was gorgeous. But like cutters use razors, I use River when I want to have a great big bawl session and dump my feelings all over the floor. Now, that is a way more satisfying experience at home in bed than it is at the mall.
Greg moved on 52 Fridays ago. The official one year date is tomorrow, but the day of the week feels more real to me than the date; it aches more to have the last day of school before winter break and remember that a year ago I was hungover and cheerful and anxious to come see my parents. The week has been filled with tugs and reminders, but especially today.
It's too bad that a year's time seems to have brought more distance than perspective. During this time though, I've realized that I think my dad knew pretty well what I thought of him. He knew that I respected him as a man and admired him as a writer and actor. He knew I was angry for a long time about his alcoholism, and he knew how grateful I was for his sobriety. He knew that I knew he was loyal, and that he would do anything to protect me. I hope he knew how much I enjoyed the pleasure of his company.
I guess I'm grateful that there wasn't any great rift between my father and I, no big words left unsaid. What I said the afternoon he died and have thought about often since, is that it's the little mundane words that hurt so badly, the things you want to say over and over again that you've hopefully said a million times before and now you'll never say again: "I love you." "I appreciate you."
Sometimes I try to replay what I said on St. Patricks Day, but it's all a big blur. I know I left a lot unsaid. Lucky for me, there's a communication that runs deeper than words. A year later, I still find myself hoping and praying the line hasn't been cut.
