Sunday was 10 years
since my father, Dale Evans Roe, passed away. It’s hard to believe he’s been
gone 10 years – and Mom for 15 years. I literally think about them every single
day.
I have a friend that moved back in with her parents, while
her life is changing, and she shared how challenging it is to move back “home”
after you’ve been out on your own. I do understand that – but, oh, how I wish I
could move back “home”. What I wouldn’t give to stop in for even just a quick
visit. How I long to hear Mom tell me to “just grab something” when I stood
with the fridge door open too long (because they always had yummy stuff in
there.)
Our parents are there our whole lives – literally from the
moment of birth (or in my case just a few days later.) They are there when we
take our first steps. They are there for our first day of school. They are
there for skinned knees, unending ear infections, and a million twisted ankles.
For the good and bad, the ups and downs – they are there through it all.
And then one day, they’re not.
Mom died quickly. My
sister called and told me to come, but by the time I arrived at the hospital
Mom was gone. Dad sat there in a chair looking sad and lost – and smaller than
I had ever seen him in my life. My dad was always larger than life, and it was
only after she passed that I realized he was so big because Mom took care of
everything else so that he could do the million things he was involved in. They
were truly a team, balancing each other out perfectly – and suddenly his other
half was gone.
I miss them both. I miss going canoeing every Saturday
morning while Dad taught the class. I miss Mom’s amazingly perfect Divinity
candy. I miss going to Oakland City Hall with Dad while he attended some meeting
with the Mayor, and him buying me snacks to keep me quietly sitting there (for
hours!) – and him even knowing the name of the shoe shine guy in the lobby. I
miss seeing them holding hands when they walked somewhere together, and how Dad
always opened the door for Mom. I miss watching Mom embroider the most
exquisite temple aprons ever, and the endless baby hats she made. I miss
birthday dinners at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco, and Mom’s Shrimp Salad
for dinner on a hot summer day. And I miss all those things, because they were
things I did with them.
pic: Gena (standing), Lela, and Dale Roe, Spring 1981.
10 years should be long enough for the longing to go away,
but it hasn’t – and it probably never will. But I know that I am who I am
because of who they were, because of how they raised me, because of how they
loved me. And I know that they are with me still, because that’s the kind of
parents they were – and will always be. I still feel their influence in my life
all the time – everything from shopping for a canoe to always having a first
aid kit in the car, from never going anywhere without pen & paper to always
having an emergency $10 stashed in my wallet’s hidden pocket, from cracking
jokes to make people smile (like my dad) to long heartfelt phone conversations
(like Mom).
Because as much as I want to consider myself a grown-up,
confident, self-made woman – I realize that I am the result of years of the
“Some Assembly Required” package that they picked up at the hospital when I was
3 days old. I’m pretty sure there were a few parts missing, and there’s no
doubt that I did NOT come with instructions – but they worked and worked on
making me into the best person they could. And then they reluctantly let me
step out on my own. No doubt that some of my choices brought them tears. But
I’m also pretty sure that other choices brought them joy too.
I have been able to survive some pretty rough times in the
past 10 years – and I’ve had some pretty amazing experiences along the way too.
And I know that everything that I am, I owe to them.
