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Posted

just saw this man. very sorry.  and I'm looking straight down the barrel myself.  Mom is 90 with a recently broken hip, and dad is 88 and a life-long smoker that struggles for every breath. 

  • 2 weeks later...
Posted

Well, shit.
This morning, felt like a treat for breakfast - ordered curbside from Whataburger (JCB for me, taquito for wife). Went to pick it up, decided to mix up my music for the drive there and back. Found the “70s country essentials” on Apple Music, put that on and bounced around among the songs.

Don’t it make my brown eyes blue: man, how can you not love Crystal Gayle?

Amie: harmony you have to sing along with.

Lovin’ her was easier (than anything I’ll ever do again): man…one of the sexiest, real-life romantic songs around.

Blue Bayou: Ronstadt perfection.

Annie’s Song: John Denver’s prettiest song? Maybe.

But here’s the thing….that stuff was the soundtrack to my childhood, hell, to much of my life. In a big old 70s sedan, heading down any number of Texas highways and back roads, usually in the heat of summer with the A/C and the AM radio both running. Dad at the wheel, mom sitting shotgun. Me in the back seat, watching the brush country out the window, listening to the local country station my old man could always find. These songs. On the way to and back from the haunts of my youth. Visiting family and friends, parents sitting on the porch smoking and yammering, kids running in the yards, fields, streets, what have you, looking for trouble, fun, and everything in between.

And in the car, on those trips, these sounds. And my parents’ presence. Sometimes we’d talk, about anything and everything. Word games. Engineering problems. Cracking jokes about stuff on billboards.

Crystal Gayle. Linda Ronstadt. Merle. Kenny. John Denver. All of em.

When I got home from my short trip to get breakfast, I walked in the door with the WB bag in my hand, and my wife immediately asked me what was wrong. Because I was a mess. In the car on the way home, teased and then pulled out by the memories prompted by the music, it all washed over me. It put me under, sputtering and gasping for breath beneath a half century of memories, and family, and love, and loss. I fucking broke. I don’t remember the last time I cried that hard. All of it. A rolling tide, I couldn’t stop it from coming. And maybe I didn’t want to.

I’m not just saying goodbye to my father, I’m burying a family unit of which I’m the last member.

This shit is fucking hard. And I’m more fragile about it than I expected to be.

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Posted

It comes and goes. It does get better with time. Music has that amazing ability to transport you right back to the exact moment you first heard a song or a time period where you heard that song constantly. 

I took my mom some flowers yesterday and did my usual son duties of checking that things were fine at their house. This thread reminded me that I want to grab a box of letters that my dad wrote his parents when he was fresh out of high school and starting his 4 year tour in the Navy. Being a bit myopic, I never really asked him about his time in the Navy. He would offer up some stories but I never really asked that many questions. Of course now I would love to ask him all sorts of questions about that time. These letters will help fill in the gaps. Though we share a similar trait of terrible penmanship so I may to do some guessing. I may try to transcribe these so I can have a record in case my kids ever have interest in it. I realize what my father did for me is really not something we do for our own children to give them a history of who we are as a person. Maybe something like that is just wasted on youth but I know I get excited when I can get a glimpse of his past. 

  • Like 2
Posted (edited)

Man, those 70s country songs were my car trip soundtrack with my dad as well.  Lot's of Johnny Cash, Crystal Gayle, Conway Twitty, et al.  All on 8-track. 

 

"Don't take your gun to town, son; leave your gun at home."  He loved that. 

 

He'd watch Hee-Haw, and cackle.  He'd watch the Barbara Mandrell show on the weekends, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.  He never missed an episode of Wonder Woman on Friday nights. 

 

Hearing those old songs takes me back too.  I've had a few decades to heal, and so I'm usually able to hold it together.  Mostly.

Edited by dcbc
  • Like 1
Posted
Man, those 70s country songs were my car trip soundtrack with my dad as well.  Lot's of Johnny Cash, Crystal Gayle, Conway Twitty, et al.  All on 8-track. 
 
"Don't take your gun to town, son; leave your gun at home."  He loved that. 
 
He'd watch Hee-Haw, and cackle.  He'd watch the Barbara Mandrell show on the weekends, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.  He never missed an episode of Wonder Woman on Friday nights. 
 
Hearing those old songs takes me back too.  I've had a few decades to heal, and so I'm usually able to hold it together.  Mostly.

Yeah…been listening to that playlist all day.

Marty Robbins: that was the first concert my parents went to together, shortly after they married. The McAllen Coliseum (I believe that venue existed in 1966).

Anne Murray: the performer I’ve seen in concert more than any other. Why? My dad LOVED her, so every year, when the list of performers at the Houston Rodeo was released, we promptly bought tickets for the night Anne Murray performed. I probably saw her every year from 74-84 or so.

Yeah, we watched the Mandrells. And he grew up listening to the Louisiana Hayride (and a lotta Mexican shit - he had eclectic tastes).

And my dad was a huge fan of Wonder Woman like yours, in no small part because my mom had a serious Lynda Carter vibe (no pics). He was pretty pleased with himself.
  • Like 2
Posted
12 minutes ago, Brisketexan said:

And my dad was a huge fan of Wonder Woman like yours, in no small part because my mom had a serious Lynda Carter vibe (no pics). He was pretty pleased with himself.

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Posted

Just seeing this thread, Brisket.  I’m very sorry to hear of your loss.

Your dad sounds like a wonderful man who I would have loved to have met…and of course, go on a fishing trip with.  I lost my dad (who adopted me when I was fifteen) in 2020.  They were of similar age and those guys of that vintage had to persevere through a lot in life - not many like them anymore.  I’m immensely grateful that my dad chose my mom and me.  I have no idea where I’d be in my life if he had arrived just at the right time.

I hope you get out to the Llano soon and have a full weekend of wading around, fishing, eating a Big Chop, listening to classic country, and thinking of memories.  The tears will subside in time and will be replaced with laughs and joy.  Trust me.

We will see them again, no doubt in my mind.

1 John 4:8

Psalms 126

Revelations 21:3-5

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