I will miss your bright eyes and your smile
From this valley they say you are going
I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened my life for awhile
Come and sit by my side if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the one who has loved you so true
I visited my folks one weekend about six months before Dad died, and he and I watched Prairie Home Companion while we had lunch. A blushy smile crossed his face when Meryl Streep appeared and it made me grin inside because he was always a bit transparent when he thought someone was pretty. There's love and death and faith in that movie and I may have been primed for some heavy feeling because of it, but I looked over at him toward the end of the movie and was simply crushed by the knowledge that our days together, our conversations, our sharing life was nearing an end.
And then they started singing. From this valley they say you are going, I will miss your bright eyes and your smile ... and I cleared my throat and tried to hide my tears. I doubt I was successful in that, and that's quite all right. I'd prefer he knew.
My sister and I sang that song to him when he was in the hospital the week before he came home to hospice. He was floating in some other world at the time, but we sang the words we knew and hummed the lines we didn't, and it felt good. I hope he heard and I hope he liked it.
It's been 13 months since his death and we all seem to be having a little trouble lately. I should reword that, really. It's not trouble, it's feeling things we didn't feel as strongly last holiday season because it was simply too fresh. Lately I want nothing more than to hear him say, "Oh hello, Missy! You look pretty today," and it just kills me.
I miss him.
I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened my life for awhile
Come and sit by my side if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the one who has loved you so true
I visited my folks one weekend about six months before Dad died, and he and I watched Prairie Home Companion while we had lunch. A blushy smile crossed his face when Meryl Streep appeared and it made me grin inside because he was always a bit transparent when he thought someone was pretty. There's love and death and faith in that movie and I may have been primed for some heavy feeling because of it, but I looked over at him toward the end of the movie and was simply crushed by the knowledge that our days together, our conversations, our sharing life was nearing an end.
And then they started singing. From this valley they say you are going, I will miss your bright eyes and your smile ... and I cleared my throat and tried to hide my tears. I doubt I was successful in that, and that's quite all right. I'd prefer he knew.
My sister and I sang that song to him when he was in the hospital the week before he came home to hospice. He was floating in some other world at the time, but we sang the words we knew and hummed the lines we didn't, and it felt good. I hope he heard and I hope he liked it.
It's been 13 months since his death and we all seem to be having a little trouble lately. I should reword that, really. It's not trouble, it's feeling things we didn't feel as strongly last holiday season because it was simply too fresh. Lately I want nothing more than to hear him say, "Oh hello, Missy! You look pretty today," and it just kills me.
I miss him.
posted by Melissa at 8:57 PM
6 Comments:
One of the things I've noticed about missing my Mom, is that it does rear up at odd times- and approaching holidays are hardly an odd time.
Precious memories though, and of course you miss him- but that is an indication of the love, really.
Hugs to you-
Hugs. No matter how much time has passed, it still can be as fresh as if it just happened. I miss my mom everyday, but holiday are especially hard.
I can't even begin to imagine. That's all I got right now. And we already talked about this today, but I guess I just wanted to let you know that I read it. I always do. And that I cried and my heart hurt. And that I love you so much and couldn't me more thankful if I tried, to have you for my very best friend. Because you are the very best.
the tears are fresh in my eyes also. i do ok most of the time, but when i have to see some of his things or read tender thoughts written by you all (yesterday i read a few blogs that you and your brother wrote last year, also), it brings it home with a wallop. i sure do miss him, too. even though the tears come, i love to read your memories because, for a moment, he is close. thank you.
Big hugs to you Mel. Reading your post gave me a big thump over the head to remind me to appreciate my father bear for every second. They are just so special. Hoping your aches ease and your smiles at the fond memories replace them.
Drea
Your blog killed *me*, Meliss. I couldn't even think about reading it without crying. Right now, my heart is heavy, too. My eyes are leaking and my nose is stuffed up and--oh shit--those last couple of sentences *rocked* me. On the surface, I feel fine, I think. But underneath? Oh yeah, I miss him. And you are right about last Christmas being too fresh. We, obstesibly, put on our happy faces and made a go of it, but I think a lot of our good cheer was due to the fact that he was out of his misery. For me, at least, that is accurate. But, yeah, too fresh.... It had only been a month and a half since he'd died. Now we have had about a year to marinate our emotions, our feelings, and it is turning into a bubbling emotional stew.
Fuck all that. I just miss my Daddy.
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