Balanced Between Grief and Dread

How mourning my father helped prepare me for life in a pandemic

In July my family marked the second anniversary of my father’s death. I drove down to San Diego with my daughter so we could spend a few days with my mother, in the home where I lived for much of my childhood. We lit candles, spoke words of memory, and told stories of a man who would surely have had something thoughtful or clever to say about our current circumstances. At one point my daughter climbed into my lap, and broke into improvised song: a lilting melody about how much we missed Pop Pop, but how he would always be in our hearts. My mom and I looked at each other, tears pouring down our faces, as this moment of profound grace surrounded and enclosed us. When she was done, I hugged her tightly until she squeaked, and whispered in her ear “You have a gift, kiddo!” To which she brightly replied “Yes! I have the gift of song!” My heart just about burst as she dabbed at my tears.

If you ever have occasion to drive on a freeway in San Diego, you may be fortunate enough to notice that the lanes are painted with signs showing the other freeways they exit to. It’s a lovely quality of life improvement, and it was Dad who conceived of and implemented that feature. I imagine him watching out for me whenever I drive those roads.