To Sir With Love, Always

Today is my Dad's birthday. Or would be. He'd be 84. It's hard to imagine.

He's on my mind. As he should be. And I need to tell you a little story. Forgive me if it is e repeat. Dad is always alive in my thoughts, and I am never sure what thoughts I've actually shared.

Last November marked the sixth anniversary of the sad but merciful day that my Dad passed away. It was just before Thanksgiving and each year as the holidays approach (and so does my mother's pilgrimage North to put the whammy on all of us) my thoughts very naturally become dominated by him. Not that he's long out of mind ever.

This year, a few days before the anniversary, I turned to YouTube to help with a little tribute to him. I've mentioned before the special significance of the song To Sir With Love by Lulu. I searched the title and viewed the videos and chose one that I'd post to Facebook that day. And of course was composing all the while something special to say within the word limit, that could hope to impart my thoughts about such a special man. Once I was sure what I had to say, and once I was sure I'd found the write clip, I tabled the whole thing until the day itself.

A day or so later, or shall I say a night or so later, Hil and I were talking and indulging in girly things lounging on a pile of pillows on my bed.

Suddenly she says, "Mom, I'm kind of sad."

Who doesn't just about faint at those words from their child? And really, hasn't my little sprite had more than her fair share of sadness in her barely 12 years? I am suddenly preparing myself for anything. God only knows what will come out from between those rosebud lips next. Is it Mean Girls? Is Lars being a cosmically supercharged asswipe again? Is there a boy at school twisting her little tween heart into a Twizzler? Is she getting the Holiday Gloomies that I used to get when I was a kid, when the sadness about my parents divorce made me realize that the holidays were not going to be anything they were cracked up to be?

I asked what was making her sad. And frankly, held my breath.

"I am sad, Mom, because I've been praying really, really hard that Pop Pop would come here and let you know that he's happy and in Heaven and that he loves us all. And I don't think it's going to happen. But I really want you to see him again."

I am overwhelmed with love for this child. She truly knows my heart. What a sweet selfless prayer.

I assure her that in little ways Pop Pop always let's me know he's near. With songs and other signs. Like Aunt Charlotte says, he's always tapping me on the shoulder.

She seems satisfied, but still a little bummed that her prayers were not specifically answered. Hil's a little demanding.

A few days later, on the anniversary itself, I turn off my alarm in the morning and take to Facebook on my iPhone. I go to attach the You Tube video to what I've written as my status and realize I can't. I can only Tweet. But I am not on Twitter. When did this get so friggin' complicated?

In disgust, I realize I will have to go to my laptop, and have to cancel my beautifully articulated post. I put my head back on my pillow, face down for a moment or two more of peace before I have to actually be upright for the day.

And I feel something press on the small of my back. Thinking it is Trinket coming to greet me (and beg for food) I reach back for her.

She's not there. And in fact, she never was. I can hear her in the spare bedroom scratching at her post.

I am sure it is Dad. I actually say hello and tell him Hil hasdasked him to come to us. Well, in my head I do. But it is quiet and still.

A few minutes later when I am convinced there are no more signs of Dad, I get out of bed to pee. I ascertain that Trinket is in the spare bedroom snoozing in her bed basking in the dawn's early light.

And not really ready to get out of bed for good just yet, I return to the bed and get under the covers warmed by the heating blanket I'd left on all night. As I lie there on my side, half curled and facing the center of the bed I wished Scott were in with me, I felt the same pressing I'd felt before. Only this time it was twice, and against my side, as though I were being tucked in.

Again, I reach back for the cat.

No kitty. No kitty anywhere in the room.

And I am calm. I am comforted. It was too parental a gesture to be anyone but Dad having come to greet me. It was untroubled and not at all frightening.

Hil had gotten the answer to her sweet prayers for me. Dad had come to see us. And I knew he was okay. He'd simply come to tuck me in.

Happy birthday, Dad. Not a day goes by without a memory of you in it. Thank you for being the moon in my sky when I was a child. And for the gift of life and your myriad lessons on how to live it. XOXO