Wednesday, September 7, 2016
A Date to Remember?
I think today is the date of my father's death. I know it was 1941. I was eight years old. I remember waking up wondering why no one got me up to go to school. When I went to my mother's bedroom, she was with my Aunt Doris. "Your father has died," they said.
I wore my good white dress to the funeral. My mother leaned over the casket and cried: "Someday we will be together again. Someday."
When she died, I asked Jo if she was going to be buried in Toledo next to our dad. He said: "No, she's going to be here."
The eight year old inside me was confused. I thought they would be together again. The way she said and the way it's supposed to be.