and away we go.

{part three, written in six parts}

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there came a point in my father's trip
when the cracks began to appear

nothing major, mind you
just hairline evidence
of disapproval and criticism

but somehow
this time was different
no gaps began to show
no gulfs to slip into and disappear

because

i realized the words ran along a familiar theme
her voice one i recognized all too well
and somehow
i stopped being impressed with what she had to say

so we carried on

and the things i once called the flaws of my father
integrated themselves back into the tapestry of his being
adding color and dimension i have no right to judge.

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my mom gets an email for every blog post i write and several of these she has forwarded to my dad. but he's also discovered how to click from the email to my actual blog and has been reading through the almost 500 posts. {tangents: 1. now, i'm quite proud of him for this because he's rather overwhelmed by computers. and 2. i find it sweet when i start to talk about the idea of traveling to iceland with my friend sahra, and he knows exactly who she is a la my blog}

naturally, he's developed quite a curiosity about this band called radiohead, so on the drive home christmas eve i put on thom's cymbal rush as his first taste.

silence in the back, broken by a simple and sincere "this is nice."

and as the song closes and i switch to another disc for an actual radiohead song, he thinks i'm going to a new artist entirely and says "don't change it, more of this radiohead..."

yes. hell, yes.

i need to make him a mix.

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we had a date, just the two of us, and i think it's the first we've had in my 27 years as his daughter. despite a slightly later start than some, we did pretty well for being new at it.

the night began with the world's best eggplant french fries, a lavender soda, and more stories about his youth and my oma {grandma in dutch} in one sitting than i have ever heard before.

and that was merely the beginning.

next he took me to the 9th. beethoven's glorious symphony that culminates in a bass-carried opening that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

ode to joy

a commonplace concept and melody, lessened by careless reproductions. so when it's brought to its original {read: live} form and you can actually feel the familiar tune resonating from the strings of six or seven basses the genius of it stands out so simply and heart-achingly. joy cannot be more tangible than the feeling of listening to them live.

the double bass. a massive instrument mostly dedicated to the atmospheric plucking and notes that ride far below the melodies and harmonies. so when they started the opening measures after waiting over an hour for this finale...

well,

it was just perfect.

so perfect i had to see it again a few nights later with a dear friend, and my dad was the reason i got to see it then, too. the nudge. the reminder. the ticket. and so i had it not once but twice and it was glorious, each time in its own way. the first for my dad's presence, his slight hand gestures when the music got intense and overall our shared joy of music {i finally realize how i get my emotional sensitivity to music from my dad}, and the second for the closeness of two women friends and my cute little black dress that made its debut that night and both for the music. for the music. for the music. you just can't replace a live orchestra.

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there was one part of that night, though, that feels separate from the rest.
two moments, really, that stand up and out
resting away from the other memories
not letting me gloss over them in satisfaction and warmth

the first was a moment during intermission

we were meandering through the crowd
navigating floor after floor in our thwarted attempts to find coffee and tea
i could sense he was getting flustered by the third time we were disappointed in our search
and as we turned to enter the crowd once more, he took my arm confessing in this vulnerable and honest voice how much all the people unnerved him.

and somehow without consulting me, the part of me determined-to-maintain-at-all-costs-the-illusion-of-control stepped up, took over, and smoothly adjusted my body to gesture onward, break contact and force him forward and alone into the crowd with me following collectedly behind.

and,
i can't seem to forget that subtle moment of violence.

no, i don't use the word lightly though perhaps as a form of frustrated self-punishment.
i am unflinchingly disappointed in myself that i couldn't just meet my father at that place of helplessness. acknowledge him. somehow empathize. not even reply necessarily, but just continue forward softly, his arm linked with mine
instead of slamming the door on his face.

and not only that, but i did it again perhaps an hour later.



god, this next one breaks my heart to just think of it.


it's the moment we've all been waiting for
the entire concert hall
that magical moment the basses open up and deliver us the melody of ode to joy
unfortunately it's also when they timed vents to dump their dry air right across our faces
and my dad, recently recovering from being sick, starts to cough

well, not actually cough, but a sputtering attempt at concealing a cough to minimize the disruption of The Highlight for our nearest neighbors. but it's still fairly obvious to all in a four seat radius that something is sounding besides the instruments on stage.
and to make it worse, he can't seem to stop.

at first i wasn't sure if perhaps he had just started sobbing, but when i realize what's going on, i am at a loss for what to do. my mind isn't on the music anymore and i can no longer feel the resonace of the strings in my heart or body as i worry about the sidelong glances from a few seats to my right and fervently wish i could do something, anything, to make it stop for his sake, mine and our neighbors.

then he turns to me and makes his transgression worse by speaking! and saying in a clipped but at the same time way-too-loud-in-the-symphony-silence that it's the air. and even though what he was clearly asking for was a little sympathy and to share the load of his embarrassment and discomfort, all i can do is give him a look and shush him.

and that's when it happened again, the door making contact with his face and my hand hardly knowing how it went from being outstretched to that authoritative gesture that effectively closed the space between us.

and the irony of it all is that the very next day i found a cough drop patiently waiting at the bottom of my purse.

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the night before my father left we all gathered at my sister's house for dinner
i can't remember what we ate, but dessert was this fabulous chocolate that, in one of those small acts of symmetry, i just found and purchased for the first time tonight. some chi chi brand of spicy chocolate that heats up your mouth oh so delicately. yum.

but i digress.
back to the last night.

i remember being tired.
i remember spending too much of the night wading through the files on my old computer--i wanted to send it back to europe with my dad so he could become acquainted with macs, albeit an antiquated one.
i remember my dad pulling out his little ipod nano and admitting not knowing how to operate it {despite the cheat sheet my mom had carefully written out for him which was lying next to the ipod}. so we sat down at the kitchen table and i clearly showed him the one trick he needs: pressing the menu button as many times as necessary whenever he's lost until he recognizes the screen. the light bulb went on above his head and then it was time to go.
i remember the feeling in my stomach as he walked us out to the car.
and i remember clearly thinking i didn't want to say goodbye.
and finally, i still remember, the feeling that for the first time i was saying goodbye to a friend, and not just my dad.

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prologue:

and he still calls rather regularly. often on those nights when he can't sleep. and we talk if i'm able to answer or he leaves these charmingly addressed voicemails when i can't {hi tania, it's your dad...."as though i wouldn't recognize him" i think each time with a smile}

and when i said i was going to travel abroad this year, he asked if austria would be on the agenda. and i think it might just have to be.

fin. for now.

currently listening to: devotchka - how it ends on repeat for the past hour and a half. and dad, since i know mom will forward this post to you, you should go listen to the song by clicking ---> here <--- and pressing play on the little video window that pops up.