Showing Up

This won't be a long post today.  I just wanted to drop in and thank all of you for your kind, supportive words regarding my Dad's death.

To all my dear friends and acquaintances from out of town who called, e-mailed, facebooked, and sent lovely hand-written notes, thank you.  I can't tell you how much it means to me.

You should've seen Dad's wake.   There wasn't an empty parking space at the funeral home, because so many people came to pay their respects to this brother, uncle, friend, colleague, and teacher they knew and loved.

Dad's former students were the ones that touched me the most. You may remember from an earlier post that Dad was a high school shop teacher for several years (although he hated that term, and insisted we call it "Industrial Arts.").  His students were often not the most  academically gifted in the school, but Dad's class offered them a chance to excel at something else; working with their hands and creating something to be proud of.

Imagine how much it meant to my siblings and I to have these grown men approach us as we stood next to Dad's casket, and tell us how profoundly Dad affected their lives.  They could have bought a sympathy card at the grocery store, signed their names at the bottom, and mailed it to the house.  But they didn't.  They showed up. And I'll never forget it.

They put on suits and uncomfortable shoes, combed their hair and drove a few towns away, just to pay their respects in person.  They grabbed our hands and looked into our eyes and told us how much they appreciated our father.  And I'll never forget it.

There were others who showed up, too.  Like the now grown-up boys who lived next door to us thirty years ago.  They used to make Dad crazy because they mowed the lawn in their bare feet (safety hazard) and yelled loudly at each other during spirited games of whiffle ball played in their backyard.  We hadn't seen any of them in years.  Yet, there they were, to grab our hands and gently say, "So sorry to hear about your Dad."  They showed up.  And I'll never forget it.

Then there were my friends.  Not friends of Dad's, mind you (although there were plenty of those, too), MY friends.  High school friends who didn't know Dad that well, but came to comfort ME.  They showed up with warm hugs, handing me their phone numbers written on slips of paper for "if you just need to talk, or get away for awhile."  Gay, my childhood friend, and her parents, whom I haven't seen in over two decades, showed up.  And I'll never forget it.

Many of the people I've mentioned above don't read this blog, and will probably never get this message, but I hope you'll indulge me as I send it anyway:

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Not only were you a tremendous comfort, you taught me an invaluable lesson.  Showing up means much more than I ever imagined.  Before that evening, if my childhood next door neighbor had passed away and I learned about the funeral,  I may have penned a quick note to their children and dropped it in the mail, feeling really good that I "reached out."  But now all that has changed.

I will show up.  I will curl my hair, put on makeup, hose, and a dress, and I will be there.  I will wrap my arms around you, and remind you how loved you are.  You have my word. Because based on my experience, it's the absolute best thing I can do.

Thanks for Reading.