What a tender tribute to a beloved father, and a perfect way to observe Memorial Day. My dad, also a Navy man, has been gone over 17 years. His was a long, difficult exit through dementia. I'd said goodbye to his essence countless times and thought I was ready for his final passing. I was wrong. But we go on, ever grateful for their love, for the examples they set, for the memories they left.
May 31, 2022·edited May 31, 2022Liked by Tori Pelz
Tori, your essay touched me in several ways. I, too, said goodbye to my Dad, the veteran, in March of this year. I was also reminded of my mother-in-law’s passing in 2005, when my son was nine years old. My son grew up playing traditional Irish music, which is a fancy way of saying that he grew up playing music in bars. The day his grandmother died was also the day he was scheduled to play a set with his fiddle teacher on stage in a bar in downtown Atlanta. We wrestled (briefly) with the idea of canceling his “gig”, but in the end decided that Grandma would have wanted him to play. Not only was it good to get out of the house that night, as wrong as it felt at the time, but now our family’s permanent memory of an otherwise gloomy event is of a key moment in our son’s development as a musician. Not quite an Irish wake, but close enough. As you properly concluded, your trip to Paris served the same dual purpose: a tribute to a life well-lived and a reminder that the show (life) must go on.
What a tender tribute to a beloved father, and a perfect way to observe Memorial Day. My dad, also a Navy man, has been gone over 17 years. His was a long, difficult exit through dementia. I'd said goodbye to his essence countless times and thought I was ready for his final passing. I was wrong. But we go on, ever grateful for their love, for the examples they set, for the memories they left.
Tori, your essay touched me in several ways. I, too, said goodbye to my Dad, the veteran, in March of this year. I was also reminded of my mother-in-law’s passing in 2005, when my son was nine years old. My son grew up playing traditional Irish music, which is a fancy way of saying that he grew up playing music in bars. The day his grandmother died was also the day he was scheduled to play a set with his fiddle teacher on stage in a bar in downtown Atlanta. We wrestled (briefly) with the idea of canceling his “gig”, but in the end decided that Grandma would have wanted him to play. Not only was it good to get out of the house that night, as wrong as it felt at the time, but now our family’s permanent memory of an otherwise gloomy event is of a key moment in our son’s development as a musician. Not quite an Irish wake, but close enough. As you properly concluded, your trip to Paris served the same dual purpose: a tribute to a life well-lived and a reminder that the show (life) must go on.
Beautiful, friend. Thanks for making this public