Sunday, August 9, 2009

Yes'm, we'll have the whole pie...

We were sitting at the annual ART board meeting on Friday night, and it was time to order dessert. Dad asked for a piece of Key Lime, I did too, then dad said "we'll just take a whole one." The nice woman with a foreign origin said "dee whol pi-ee? it wheel coust ** doll airs!" Dad said "yes'm, we'll have the whole pie."
This will be important later... you'll have to read on to see...

I think the hardest thing to swallow about this whole diagnosis (for me, remember... my perspective only...) is the irony of it all. Dad worked for almost 30 years for an established tile manufacturing plant. He worked hard because he had a nest of Byrds to feed and clothe and take on vacation. He didn't complain about his job, I only have this perspective because of the sudden change once he was self employed.
He didn't complain, he went to work, he was suddenly disappointed in some choices they made, and was forced to go out on his own. Thank goodness for their poor choices, as a happier man ensued. Now, he works equally as hard for himself, builds and grows ART, sees its success, gets all his kids' weddings paid for, buys himself a two-seater, and drives it to get his cancer diagnosis. Disappointing.

Dad has always been a buy the whole pie kinda guy, but not necessarily for his own enjoyment. There was this plaquard that used to hang on the upstairs bathroom wall, until the Great Renovation of 2009... it said My father doesn't tell me how to live, he lives and lets me watch. We have been watching. He's of a service-dog mentality. He likes to help. He likes to drive old ladies to church. He likes to help people on Christmas when their pipes freeze and bust. He likes to move walls for mom so she can say "ooh! you're strong!" He likes to save his grandchildren from their parents. But finally, finally! he's just helping himself to all that is his. It was nice to see at the beach.

All that is his. Maybe a diagnosis helps you see what is yours, and finally enjoy it as your own. He took a nap every day, he wandered to and from the water, he ate cheeze puffs with Emily, he laughed at and with the fools his daughters chose to marry, he goo-gooed with Elliot, he pow-wowed with Eli, he talked about gravity and rust with Ethan, he ate his pie.

The beach has always been a re-set point. Summer's over - School's starting. Wow I'm jiggly in this bathing suit - I'm going to work out as soon as I get back. Rachy's engaged- There's gonna be a wedding. By the time we come back, Elliot will be born. Next year all the kids can sleep in the bunk room. Next year we want a house with a pool. Next year Dad will have been through a year of Sutent and his hair will probably be all white. Next year. Next year. Next year. It's why we go... to reset for our next year.

This year, we'll have the whole pie.


Sam said...

Well said sis, well said.

Rachel Silvestri said...

Good post Sista! It's true. My year has always reset in August and not January. Maybe we should start bringing party hats and horns to the beach.