In a few weeks, my dear father-in-law will be eighty years old, so we’ve spent the last week in Mexico, celebrating this milestone with seven days of sunshine, food, drink, and family.
I am a very lucky woman to have married into this smart, funny, and kind group of people.
While this week has been wonderful, it has also been melancholy, for my own dear father’s birthday is also toward the end of September. It seems odd that the happiest family moments can draw the most bittersweet of memories, the sharpest pangs of grief.
Dad’s been gone for over twenty years, but I often hear his voice in my head, usually gently teasing me, always supporting me. This week, I heard him singing to me.
Goodbye Joe, me gotta go me oh my oh . . .
Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be . . .
Bet my money on a bob-tail nag; somebody bet on the bay.
These were songs he sang to me when I was a little girl. They remind me that my earliest memories are of my father’s love. I suppose the family love that surrounded our group this week is what drew that music to my ears.
I am a very lucky woman to be the daughter of a smart, funny, and kind man.
Now, I am going to sing myself to sleep. Dream sweetly.