A “River” Runs Through It

It’s been three months since my father passed away and the waters of time are doing their best to smooth over the rough edges of the experience. Time, they say, heals all wounds, but I’m not sure I buy that – not yet, anyway. For me, the waters of time are doing more to expose the hidden layers of grief that life has conspired to cover up – as time flows, I’m finding more to consider and, sometimes, that means more reasons to miss my dad. I’m not sure that time can heal that in a mere three months.

However, in exploring these new sedimentary layers of grief, I find myself smiling to myself more often than not – smiling at the memory of a long-forgotten joke or anecdote; smiling at a remembrance of a conversation or bit of advice that my dad imparted in passing that’s recently been uncovered by the river of grief.

The notion of time and memory as a river or body of moving water flowed into my consciousness more clearly this past week as we remembered my father and his love of the game of golf. His best friend and frequent golf buddy – an amazing man named Dan who I’ve known for more than 20 years – put together a memorial tournament for my dad, the proceeds of which went to charity. The event, a time to honor and remember my dad with a group of his friends and family, would have been more than enough on its own, but Dan, ever the schemer, had something of a surprise for everyone. He managed to convince the golf course to allow him to name a small creek, one that winds its way through the course, after my dad – since, as Dan said at the memorial service, my dad generously donated more balls to that creek that anyone else could ever hope to. At the time, we thought it was a joke made in a eulogy by a man struggling to come to terms with the loss of a dear friend, but he surprised us by turning that joke into a reality. And, in many ways, that surprise has come to embody my ongoing reaction to my father’s death – as time flows on by and uncovers more and more, I’m continually surprised by not only my emotions and memories, but also the memories of those around me.

Here’s to time – and here’s to Derkin Creek. Long may they both flow.