"Memory Day" Memories

“Memory Day” Memories

  August 11^th, 2008 will always be etched in my mind.  Why? Do you ask?  That was the day the leading man in my life went home, my dad, Bob J. O’Banion.  He was my encourager, support system, teacher, boulder, and most importantly, a godly leader.  When you needed a hand, both of his calloused hands were there to hug, shake, and give you a pat on the back.  When you needed Christian advice, his wisdom traveled from his can line to yours.  With the can pressed against your ear, you’d hear, “God is the way, the truth, and the light.”  He was a true definition of a man, a sovereign man.  Integrity made him a humble guide through the Blueridge Mountains, the dry desert, and beyond.  Love lined his face with deep canyon wrinkles.  He sought and dug ditches to provide.  The rooftop was his “day home”.  Sun-tanned skin branded him a “sweat by the brow” toiler.  Family stole his heart and tugged on his “want something?” strings.  For fifty eight earthly years he loved, lost, praised God, worked, and gave his heart and soul to everyone.  He ran the race and kept the faith till his appointed time.  “Come Bob. Well done, my good and faithful servant.”  Now, my dad, was a “memory day” memory. 

After my dad’s passing, the words started pouring in like a Louisiana rain; “I’m so sorry”, “I’ll be praying”, “He’s in a better place”, “He’s not suffering anymore.”  Those words were like lighting through the grief clouds.  I’ll never forget the trickle of these few words, “You have good memories.”  My dad, Bob J. O’Banion, was now a heart-wrenching memory.  How could this be?  This isn’t really happening. Is it?  Every step I took felt like I was trudging through a dream.  I must be imagining this solemn funeral and agonizing trip to the cemetery, right?  I must be.  I think that’s how God protected me.  He guarded my mind and pained heart.  He numbed my soul in those scarring moments.  What wounded me were those bittersweet words, “At least you have good memories.” 

I was now left with just a legacy and an Atlantic ocean of pictures.  My dad was no longer there physically.  No “proper hugs”, as my dad called them, could be given anymore.  I couldn’t sit under the shining light with him and discuss the Bible.  His presence was no longer amongst worldly walls.  He now started growing in my heart.  The roots were beginning to branch inside, just slightly.  Over the next years, my dad would fill my heart like a willow tree beside a creek.   

In the beginning of my loss journey, precious memories haunted me.  They appeared, staring me in my teary-eyed face.  Please! Go away!  I don’t want you here right now, you tormenting memory.  In the first year without my dad, my brother didn’t even want his name mentioned, let alone, my mom and I talk about a memory.  My brother was running and I wanted to run the hills with him.  But, I stayed, trying to tackle the grief day and night.  I wanted to try and face it head on.  My dad taught me to “go boldly” and this was the day to ride into battle.  Dear God, give me strength to endure this trial.   

Please, God, give me bravery to confront memories of my loving dad.  Sometimes I thought, “If he was mean, this wouldn’t be so hard.”  No!  Don’t think that!  It’s funny the things that pop into your mind when your stricken with sadness.  I had to think, “I was blessed to have a wonderful childhood.  I was blessed to have a ‘Braveheart’ dad.”  With those blessings, come bittersweet memories.  They clash with your feelings you have at the heart-breaking moment.  They argue inside your soul.  Think this Disney World moment.  Think this Rocky Mountain flashback.  Please! Don’t remind me of “Little House on the Prairie” days.  Leave! Don’t tempt my eyes to glisten with “what could have been” tears. 

We were once a family of five, now, a family of four without a manly spirit to guide.  Where did my dad go?  Of course, we knew my dad was living in his eternal home.  But, would he not grace the door anymore?  It felt like he would just appear any second, grinning underneath his mustache.  Shouldn’t he be gently gracing our living room, wearing a flannel plaid shirt and a blue ball cap?  His aura was now a remembrance, a feeling in our hearts.  My dad was now a “memory day” memory. 

My dad called fulfilling days, “memory days”.  Those fulfilling and joyous days were now seashells on the white sand.  Walking along the “grief shore”, you stop and pick up a seashell every now and then.  You hold the shell close to your ear and hear wavy recollections.  You hear, but can never relive that moment.  Setting the shell back down, the wave covers it with sand.  You keep walking, encountering multitudes of “memory shells”. 

As the “storybook years” pass by, memories get easier to talk about.  As a family, we can actually converse about my dad without crying.  He was a man, a life, a silly, yet serious spirit that once walked this earth.  He marched through his days anticipating heaven.  We laugh now…yes, there comes a time where you actually smile again.  There comes a point of acceptance.  My dad said, “If it’s my time, God will take me.”  I’ve come to that conclusion in my life. 

I am now a 30 year old woman and have adapted to a life without my dad by my side.  I have adapted, but the missing never disappears.  Milestones will bring voidance.  My dad will not walk me down the aisle or hold my hand while I’m in labor.  He will be with me in “willow spirit”.  I’ll feel a calming wind and leaves brushing over my shoulder.  The roots of “memory day” memories will be deeply rooted.  I’ll just think of my dad’s loveliness in those special chapters of my life.