I've put off posting this for quite some time. Tonight I've decided – I've festered enough. I'm not shy. I'm not afraid of speaking my mind. Why worry about posting my thoughts about something that has come to affect me no matter how hard I've tried to put it at bay. I told my Mom blogging is therapy. Here goes today's session.
No one, I repeat, no one has the right to judge anyone else. I'm not saying I'm a saint and haven't been guilty of this on occasion. No one is perfect. However this time, it's personal. No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, I ended up having to hear others judgments of my Dad. In the midst of dealing with the greatest loss I've ever had to encounter and saying goodbye to half of the reason I exist today, rumors seeped into conversations around me. We didn't even get through the lunch after the funeral without people opening their mouths in speculation. Now, three months later, people still haven't shut up. I've said time and time again I know gossip is going around but I really, really, really don't care and don't want to hear it. Truth is, it's inevitable.
I know small towns are great. Don't misunderstand my intentions as I'm not trying to downplay the help we received. I know, felt and was touched by the love and support of my friends and family and our community. Understandably, most have gone back to their daily lives but unfortunately, I'm left, at times, with a sour taste in my mouth and anger in my head. Sometimes a small town doesn't seem to know when to mind their own business. Why? Why do others concern themselves with what happened or speculate as to why or how it happened? Why do people feel it's their place to judge someone they knew absolutely nothing about? Why do people not think before they open their mouths? Why is my family not considered when everyone feels the need to know? I know the world does not revolve around me or my problems so why should someone else's coffee conversation?
No matter what anyone has thought or said out loud, people need to remember one thing. My Dad is someone to somebody. He is still someone's son, brother, husband, grandpa, coworker, cousin, uncle, friend. He is my Dad. If you respect that at all, you will know that that is enough and that is all you need to know. He was a person, not a headline. Ironically, he would've never wanted any of this attention and is probably wreaking havoc with the Man upstairs that I'm opening my mouth about this but I can't help it. He raised an outspoken daughter. I'm not staying quiet any more… but I am asking you to, at least where gossip is concerned.
One of the positives I've come to think fondly of is my Dad will always be 50 to me. I will always remember him at the peak of his existence. Everything gets better with age and my Dad was no exception. I always think and wonder what Dad's been up to. I had a hard time flying home from Virginia because as the wings cut through the clouds I couldn't help but smile knowing I was a little closer to Dad up in heaven. I bowed my head, pulled the rim of my hat down real low, turned up Spirit in the Sky and cried all the way home. I'd give anything to be able to talk to him again… even if it's just about hunting.