It’s been one month since you left. The past thirty-one days have been the wildest buffet of feelings and memories. You have always been a part of the fabric of our lives, but it has been felt more keenly these four weeks.
Did you know that I often quote or refer to you to my class?
“As my dad always says, let’s do this just for kicks.”
“If my dad was here right now he’d tell you to pick up your feet.”
“You’ll never be a card shark like my dad if you don’t learn your addition facts.”
When I sing an instruction to them (they secretly love it, I’m sure), I think of you. Not every time, it is just part of who I am now, but I know it’s because of you.
I tell them they are my favourite grade fives and they always answer “we’re your’re only grade fives!” Just like you always told us we were your favourite ten-year-old, oldest child, youngest child, or any other descriptor.
For years I thought you just had songs for various things. Someone in the family asked, “who shoved all the Tupperware in the cupboard and just closed the door? They all fell on me!” You could be heard from a corner of the house singing, “Must be Janice, must be Janice.” I did not know until I was in my twenties that that was a cover of Raffi’s “Must be Santa”.
Did you know that one of your grandsons does this all the time as well? He’s always got a tune going, it’s more about whistling with him, but it reminds me of you. I can hear him from corners of the house and always know he’s home.
When my boys were little, I had so many songs individualized for them, but copyright laws prohibit me from sharing them online. I still do it now, with our puppy (he’s the fluffy boy I love a lot and Denver is his name-o).
When I taught kindergarten I’d often piggyback teaching themes onto known songs. That’s how we reviewed the seasons, and how to put on our winter clothes, and so many other skills. That is not a coincidence, I was taught that from you all along, even if the lessons were a bit sketchy. I clearly recall hearing you sing (midsummer):
The tree, the tree
Let's go and steal a tree
We'll string it up with stolen lights
Where no one else can see
It’s Christmas and that always reminds me of you. You’d set up a gift-wrapping station in the front room and we would bring you presents. Like a machine, you’d produce perfectly creased, cut, and folded packages. There was no item you could not expertly wrap. We all love the story of how you learned that skill: wrapping period products in the fifties-era drugstore. You were oblivious to the contents of the boxes and just went about your job. The whistle-loving grandson asked me to teach him to wrap and I had to tell him that I never learned as you always took care of that.
Friends and I were recently sharing what we have bought for Christmas and how to hide it from our kids. Of course I had to share the story of the year you bought a cassette case and hid it so well that we never found it.
when you died
your magic didn't vanish
it is carried by those who love you
like we swallowed the sun and every star.
we don't tell your story to make the world darker.
we tell your story to make the world brighter.
no one will see that light shine again
if we never get to let it out.
-Sara Rian
I miss you. I miss hearing “hey kiddo!” when I call. I miss your shoulder-shaking laugh. I miss stocking up on your favourites before you came for a visit.
I miss you, so I will keep sharing your stories.
Tough Bananas 