Safekeeping

For a long time, I didn’t have any items given to me from my father.

I didn’t long for them and I was aware of that. 

Perhaps I was defended against that longing due to his leave-taking when I was so young. A toddler of two.

Eventually, as he was nearing his ending, I began to accumulate items of great meaning.

His letters to me which his attorneys eventually gave me and which to this day, remain my most powerful connection to him, in addition to two items.

The first was a symbolic gift he bought for me when I graduated college (and I had a difficult time receiving it because he was not in attendance).

The next, I had a little difficulty receiving, but then I didn’t. At first, I resisted him a great deal, we argued… it was a long dance… 

But here’s what happened:

When I knew my father was dying, he finally left New York and moved to Naples, Florida with my step-mother. I was so proud of him. It was a crazy bold move. 

Reflecting on it now, it brings great solace to my heart. The sheer and utter bravery.

I have so much respect for him for knowing this would be his final resting place, knowing he had a longing that rumbled so loud inside of him- to surround himself with beauty and splendor and that he manifested it. 

I feel that coming through now. I honor it. I see it. 

*

During that time, I knew the time he had left would be very brief and I hopped on connecting flights many times in order to prepare both of us as we continued our work to say goodbye to each other. Of course, the last time, was the hardest. The one when he asked me to come for our final farewell. 

On one of the trips, I forgot my sunglasses. To sunny Florida. Imagine that. It was one of the earlier trips in his ending, meaning, he was still driving a 10 min drive, still walking, still capable many simple tasks. And even though I had always rented a car to go see him, he insisted upon taking me to get some sunglasses.

That’s when our dance began.

I did something which wasn’t easy for me. But eventually, I surrendered. I allowed him to buy me a pair of sunglasses. This had to have been back in 1995.

This was a gift I absolutely cherished. I cherished the sweetness of the giving. The gift of our time together. The fears he shared with me about dying. The beauty he kept showing me through the pain and ugliness of all that he was losing and most importantly, that shook him into wakefulness from his fear of losing. 

This gift was him offering me another stamp of remembrance.

I honored it.

When I arrived back in California, I tucked the sunglasses deliberately in my glove compartment.

Flash forward: my girlfriend occasionally would borrow my car and take clients out for appointments.

On one of these occasions, she borrowed my car and she also popped open the glove compartment and borrowed the sunglasses. When she returned my car that day, the sunglasses were not in the case.

It was one of the first times that I can remember being utterly devastated by the loss of an object. 

My father had not been gone more than 6 or 8 months, but it wrecked me. Inside of me, I knew it was just an object and I could call back the visit, I could call back his smile, I could call back his offering, but I knew I had to let this go and I that was going to require letting another piece of him go. 

*

About 15 years later, my life was now on the East coast, several relationships later, perhaps I was even single at the time, I had the idea to go on eBay and search for a pair of the same sunglasses. I checked periodically, and over the course of a year, I found a pair and bought them for myself in order to bring healing and repair to my own heart. To honor to my father. Honor to his memory. And to all of the space that lives and grows through and between us. 

This one action, though quite simple, helps me remember. Helps me feel that dance. Feel the surrender. Feel all that we repaired inside of me. 

And it serves as a symbol to carry that forward with courage. No matter how much time is left.

And…  like most things, they are tucked in a very safe space. 

7.23.20

Jill Bacharach