Fifty-One Days

 Spons: www.cailorfleming.com/  https://chickfilasouthernpark.com/  https://www.hbkcpa.com/consultants/joseph-c-ledford/ Ps 118: The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone.

Fifty-one days.

That’s how long it’s been since I talked to my Pop here in person. How long it’s been since I heard his voice.

It’s been 51 days since my sweet little Ma lost the love of her life.

Since my boy (a/k/a this generation’s version of my Dad) said goodbye to his beloved “Bop”.

Fifty-one days.

It’s so odd, even as a fully-baked, 51-year-old woman, to try and navigate the world without your Daddy in it.  Sigh.

It's just weird. And bitterly difficult. Even when you know it's inevitable --and ultimately the kindest, gentlest end to the suffering for a loved one headed on that heavenly journey. And sure-as-shootin', even with the TREMENDOUS peace of knowing that’s where he is now, it's just -- SO -- HARD.

Harder than I comprehended it could be.

More sighing. And a whole lot more, some days. Ugh.

Fifty-one days have passed in a both an eternity and a blink.  

In some ways, it feels like forever ago -- especially when I consider I will never again, on this here planet, get Pop’s sage advice or be able to kiss the top of his head or catch his familiar “So Long” salutation of “Fai buon viaggio e scrivi quando arrivi” — or “Have a good trip and write (to me) when you arrive.”

This is a farewell uttered to those embarking on long travels in the days before cell phones and emails, yo. Also, I believe it was a sweet, paternal nod to my writing. I’d often assure him that, soon after getting home, I was, in fact, going to be, er, scriving. He’d always chuckle at my bad attempt to speak Italian. Man, I miss that.

Then again, it’s sort of like we just lost him yesterday. I mean, especially given our new normal in the midst of this pandemic-ness, it's ironically, almost as if time has stood still for the last month or so. Like seriously. 

Exasperating sighing.

​Thankfully, we were able to say “Fai buon viaggio” to Pop with calling hours, a funeral Mass, a graveside prayer, and a mercy luncheon. I could have never dreamed that I'd feel so grateful to have been able to bury my Father. For those who cannot due to cursed COVID-19, I'm so sorry and praying for you.

If Pop was here, he’d have a LOT to say about this whole horrid mess including hypotheses about where and how it started, spread, etc. Much of it would likely not be fit to print. I may have mentioned it once or 5,784 times; Pop was wicked funny and completely unaffected by political correctness, you dig?

LORDY, I miss that!!!

He might quote a favorite movie of his, “Smokey and the Bandit” and drop the deadpan line, “What in the hell is the world coming to?” Either way.

I’m so blessed to have had him as long as I did and to have had the chance to kiss him goodbye; for now, that is.

Because, just as I know I’ll have pasta with him again someday —- I know we’re all gonna make it through this crisis. 

Like he always said, “As long as there's hope, everything’ll be a’ight.” Hey, when Pop talks, you listen, Capisce? #Pray #Believe #MissYouDad

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