It was at around this same time of the morning six years ago that I got the call. I don’t remember who called me, but that’s another story. (Whenever I tell my mother I can’t remember a particular person, place or thing, she says it’s because I’m “not trying to remember.” Perhaps…)
Daddy had just died. It wasn’t a shock — he had cancer, and I knew the time was coming. I’d been home to visit him about a month earlier, so I had made amends (or tried — I’m not sure how much he understood, or even if he knew it was I by his bed) and told him that I loved him.
My youngest sister was probably his favorite. She’s the one who looks the most like him and her antics could always make him laugh, except for the time when she was quite little and she danced around the kitchen in her new patent leather shoes while eating the entire top off (bit by bit, piece by piece) of a cake he had just baked.
My father had his flaws, some quite big, but he loved his family. He was never the touchy-feely type, and I can probably count the times he actually said “I love you” to me on one hand. But I know he loved and was proud of all of us.
After he died, my mother and I were going through a metal file box (for letter sized files) in which he kept all of his important papers. That he could keep everything in one file box is another story - he was quite economical when it came to space and clutter and not collecting things. Anyway, in this box was a file folder for each of his daughters. I looked in mine and there were programs from concerts I’d performed in when I was much younger and other assorted memorabilia that he’d saved over the years. I didn’t know he had kept these things.
My favorite memories of my father are:
- his cooking Sunday breakfast (country style) for the family while playing easy-listening music on the radio
- his telling us stories of when he and his brother were little (my father was quite mischievous, apparently)
- his cleaning out my car (I didn’t inherit his neatness) when I’d visit (he’d do it without my knowing it!)
Roy and Mae Washington
Christmas 1993
Roy Lee Washington
June 14, 1928-April 29, 2002
Rest well, Daddy. I love you.
