Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Every time a bell rings, an Angel gets his wings

It has been two years today since Pop died in his sleep at home. Mom called me as I strolled along the New York streets. Numb. Instantly numb. I lost the messages he'd left when I switched phone providers last month. I didn't think about it until afterwards. They were already gone by then. Him saying, "Hi, hon! I just got your little message. I never know when it is okay to call. I know you're busy. I'll talk to you soon. I love you. Bye, bye for now." Or excited that last time they released him from the hospital, "I just wanted to let you know they're going to let me go today. Becky's going to come get me. They think around noon I'll be ready to go." He was so happy to go home. Or calling about the package he'd sent me with my snorkeling flippers and a "little note." Or even that last conversation from New York when he was sick and I told him I wished I were there to take care of him, and he said he wished I was, too. I regret that. It does no good now, I know, but I'm sad about me here in Michigan at 4am. I'm probably just tired. I miss him almost everyday still. I've taken to wearing my grandmother's wedding rings, one from Max and one from Pop. They tinkle when I move my hand sometimes. I know he already has his wings, though, many times over.


Blogger dm said...

Hi, S
Touching post. After my grandmother died, I saw her wedding ring that they'd had to cut off her finger. It was so small! Incidentally it fits only on my ring finger and no one else's. That made me smile.

3:22 AM, April 06, 2010  
Blogger S. said...

I'm glad your grandmother's ring fits you. It feels to me more connected that way.

10:54 PM, April 20, 2010  

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