Yes, it has been a while.
Today, Norah, now 2.5 years old, had a friend over to play, and was showing her around her room. She pointed to a picture of my Dad on her wall, and said, “That’s my Grandpa Paul. He’s gone.” And, without missing a beat, continued on to show her friend her pajamas, socks, and books.
It is comforting that we have talked about Dad enough that Norah, who was just five months old when he was killed, knows who he is, and talks about him. It helps that I have Dad’s old farm truck on the driveway and Norah sees it every day. It is currently in need of a fuel pump, and every time she sees it, Norah tells me, “Grandpa Paul’s truck’s broken. Daddy fix it!”
Today, my sister and I went to the farm to help mow the cemetery and for her to take one last look at the farm. There is an auction coming up in July and she will be back in Montreal then.
As we stood near his grave, my step-mom drove up with her new boyfriend. I averted my eyes, and chatted with her briefly before making a hasty exit. It seemed so inappropriate, for him to be there. Later in the day he ran the mower at the farm, preparing the yard for the sale. I don’t begrudge her any happiness, but am distraught to see my dad so easily replaced in her life, and still so glaringly absent in mine and my kids.
Aw Chris. Hugs. Not easily replaced, never replaced. I don’t know for sure, but there is probably just a tiny bit of the hole filled.