Nine Nevers

  Hi dad.  Well, it’s been nine years without you in my life.  It’s been “nine nevers”, nine maybes, nine what-ifs, since you left this earth.  I think often, where has the time gone?  Where did it disappear to?  Just like the bible states, “We are like a mist that appears for a little while and gone tomorrow.”  We are but a mist, clinging to the Blueridge Mountains, high amongst the living, then settling in the appointed ravine.  It was your appointed time, August 11^th, 2008, but I still think and talk about you regularly.  It’s funny when I talk to my friends about you and they didn’t know you in your godly glory.  I try to explain details and “memory days” to have them relive those moments with me because, you were such an oracle in my life.  Your oracle nature has now been hidden for nine years.  It’s been washed over by nine rains, colored by nine rainbows, and covered by nine sparkle-light snows.  Your love still lives within my heart.  It has taken up nine roots and keeps growing year by year.

It’s been nine summers without campfire lights shining upon Algonac waters.  Almost a decade without riding bikes, the sun warming our backs while freighters sang in the background.  My dad would ride along with us youngins, as he called us.  We’d stop at the playground extravaganza to slide and “go wide!”  At night our camper would burst with laughter when we would whip out Yahtzee.  Jingle, jangle echoed through the small sanctuary.  Mom could be heard by the startled deer in the woods yelling, “Yahtzee!”  My family was the dice that rattled and rolled in my heart.  They were my friends, my camping buddies.  For nine years, one buddy has been missing…my dad.  If he was still here, where would our next adventure of taken us?  Would a “what if” arose over Montana skies?  Would a “maybe” of grown in the Redwood Forest.  A “never” has been anchored.  The captain of the “road sea” set sail nine years ago to kingdom come.

It’s been nine winters since the country life bellowed snow and Lake Huron winds.  Nine seasons have come and passed over the Myron Road prairie lands.  Oaks have butterflied into monarch colors and then brimmed with ice delicacies.  Corn stalks have bursted with golden sweetness, reaching towards the sun, and then bowed back down to the frosty earth.  Deer have stamped hoof prints by our once claimed pond.  Speckled fawns have been born, then grown into princes of the Lakeport forest.  Daddy laughter once dewed over O’Banion Meadow.  A humorous spirit seeped into the welcoming “Ponderosa” porches.  Signature keys could be heard jingling in the distance, evident of work being done by calloused hands.  Halls were once smitten with giggles and hollers.  My dad and brother battled for the “hallway championship” with a small basketball and mini hoop on the bathroom door.  Since then, silence has embedded the walls for nine years.  What if you still graced the countryside?  Would we all still be “The Little House on the Prairie” family?  Would a horse prance through wildflowers by the glistening pond?  Would the collard greens that were planted withstand another season?  Nine years of what-ifs and maybes now grow over the “Braveheart” staked land.

It’s been nine Christmases, Thanksgivings, and Halloweens without your smile bringing life to the holidays.  It was a smile that was as bright as the star on the evergreen tree.  It exuded a happiness radiance that shone like the twinkle lights around the bay window.  Minnesota Street snow has fallen and quilted over street lights and sidewalks.  The sun has folded the white quilt nine times and has set it in the linen closest till next winter-tide.  Christmas has been wrapped and unwrapped without my dad, sitting on the couch with black coffee in his hand, awaiting paper shenanigans.  “Dad! Look what I got!” my brother would yell each time he opened a gift.  I would be in awe of my miniature horses, but dreamed them into 18 hand black beauties.  Joy was a present that need not be given, but was already opened under the Christmas tree.  What if my dad still sat upon the couch, drinking his strong coffee?  Would we still be in the mitten wearing knitted mittens?  Would the new great-grandchildren be snuggled up with their burly grandpa?  “We love you, pa-pa!”  What-ifs hang like ornaments, shimmering full of maybes. 

“Trick-or-treating’s” have tricked and treated without my dad being the guide.  He was the leader on the candy quest.  As soon as he would drive up in his “Bob’s Roofing” truck, my brother and I would yell, “Let’s go!”  Off we went into the dim-lit harvest night.  For nine Halloweens sweet chocolate has been collected by princesses and superheroes and then scarfed down.  Autumn colors have splish-splashed the Michigan leaves with burnt oranges and ruby reds, then fallen to their destiny.  “Crockpot Chili” has been simmered for nine falls.  My sister along with my bouncy niece and nephews no longer show up at the door, anxiously pending the warm delicacy.  My dad no longer welcomes them in to eat.  What if Halloween chili still cooked in the “maybe” kettle?  Would the new children in the family skip along with pa-pa down the street, filling pillow cases full of “memory day” treats?  Not maybe!  Oh, but yes!  More love would have been harvested and spread over hearts. 

Thanksgivings have set and cleared the table over nine years.  My dad once sat at the head like King Arthur and we were the O’Banion Knights of the Round Table.  He would speak an indulging, thankful prayer, while bellies were ready to be filled with turkey.  Blessings have been blessed and thankful hearts have been thankful since then.  Thanksgivings no longer include one indebted heart.  A heart that thanked God every second, every moment of the day.  What if “maybes” set upon the table next to the cranberry sauce?  Would the O’Banion knights be more than twelve?  What other thankful thoughts would be expressed?  What other blessings would have been poured like gravy?  Dad, you were our Thanksgiving blessing.

Nine seasons

Nine years

Monumental moments

Tiresome Trials

Love…loss…gain

Ravishing rainbows

Louisiana rain

A minute,

to a decade

Nine seasons

Nine years

Cypress sway,

with change

Nine nevers

Nine without you’s

Heaven bliss,

I’ll see you soon

It’s been nine years without you in my life, Dad.  Nine years of nevers.  You will never see me skip to the barn down the road to horseback ride.  You will not meet my friends of today.  You will not meet the new babies in the family.  You will never pray again with me by my bedside.  Seasons have blustered snow, painted leaves, bloomed Lilacs, and warmed the sands of Destin without you here.  Oh, but your spirit remains…it sways in the branches of the cypress trees.  It followed me from Michigan and rode with me in my heart.  Your spirit congregates at 118 Sea Blue Lane, within us, amongst us.  Nine years, nine nevers, but your spirit that ties a Celtic knot, cannot be severed.