I thought that on the other side of Georg’s memorial, everything would be light and peachy; that tons of weight would be lifted off my shoulders, and all would be right in my world.
Ha. Think again, Missy. I have actually had a major resurgence of grief. Perhaps it was seeing so many old friends, and realizing just how many people Georg touched through his art, his cooking, his teaching. There are so many people who have a deep story about what he meant to them. He was my dad, sure, but he was a lot of other things to a lot of other people. And I got a big dose of that this past weekend.
I have been having new instances of forgetting for a milli-second that Georg is dead. This hadn’t happened for many weeks. But now, after having been on his home turf for a few days, I am once again almost forgetting that he is not alive anymore. Perhaps this is why it is called a memorial. I wake up thinking, “I should call Dad this morning.” Actually, I get to “I should ca…” and then I remember that he is not in a calling area that I can access with cell phone or land line. Would tin cans work?
Or last night, cooking dinner. I had some ubiquitous onions frying in the pan, along with some eggplant, carrots, and cabbage. I poured some soy sauce on the vegetables and the pan made that great hissing sound and a small cloud of steam wafted a salty sweet smell to my hungry nose and for half an instant, I thought, “Ooh! I should call Georg and tell him about my stir fry that I’m making.”
There are no frying pans where Georg is.
At least, I don’t think there are.
I am just sad. Just sad. There is no getting around it. I will be sad for a while. Even though I have moved everything out of the studio into storage, and even though I have a really good start on his new website. I still have so much more to do to settle his estate. But, all this activity is not what is making me and keeping me sad.
I am sad because his physical being is not here. His smile, his attention, his cooking, his inquisitiveness, his unconditional love of his daughters and grandchildren and friends, his dedication to himself. He was a very good role model for being a dedicated artist. He was such a force of nature, my dad. I miss him. How many times can I say this?
I had planned to post some pictures today from the memorial that our friend, Zabel Belian, kindly took. But, I left the disk on my desk at work. I will have to post the pictures tomorrow or over the weekend. Until then, I will stick to words. They are all I have right now. Words and more words. And tears. Lots and lots of tears.