First Anniversary

Usually, first anniversaries are celebrated by gifting paper gifts. Add in celebratory plans and best wishes, and you have the makings of an evening or day to look forward or share with your loved ones.

This first-year cleberation is of a different nature. The day when Dad took his last breath, the sound of which I continue to hear on most days. Particularly today.

At 7:20 a.m.

When most people would be getting ready, if not already so, for work. When most kids would be sleeping in, enjoying their summer holidays after another school year.

When most would not be listening for just one more breath from a parent.

Listen closely. Wait. Wait.

Silence.

But somehow, when I picture Dad walking the streets of heaven in his new neighbourhood, silence doesn't come to mind. Instead, I see Dad stopping to talk to one neighbour after another, asking about how they liked their new lawn mower, or their new drill, or the new paint job on their set of ......wings? Bicycle? Skateboard?

Or, I picture him washing his dark green Valiant, circa 1960's. The car that made the move with us from Montreal to TDot. Before the series of Toyotas that Dad owned here on earth,

The Valiant, which met its untimely death in 1980, would have been waiting for Dad to join it last July. With the frame back intact. The frame that rusted through, and caved on that day I was trying to get to my basketball game. Dad had a good laugh; me, not so much, as I was late and ended up on the bench.

Or, I picture him, sitting at a picnic table, with all those relatives no longer with us, and lots of food. So much food. Dolmas, roasted eggplant, pita bread with homus, kebabs of all kinds, kefte, potato salad, boereg, yogurt drink, sliced cucumber and fresh tomatoes from the garden, drizzled with olive oil and garnished with oregano.

And for dessert, baklava and pecan pie. Can't have a picnic without the sweets. Not in this family.

Joking, smiling, talking about his beloved Blue Jays or his latest renovation project. And how he needs to get to Home Depot before the store closes. But not before trying to organize the next outing or sharing one last joke.

Here's to you, Dad. And to your Blue Jays.

We miss you, terribly.