Pom Pom Pom

Hello Darlin'. Nice to see you.

Are your speakers up?

My music this week is a tribute to my Dad. The first song is a favorite. The second was Dad's favorite song of all. It was played during his visitation. It will forever bring back that memory. And a nauseated feeling.

The third lovely song choice is definitely the song most closely associated with my Dad in my mind. When I was a girl, he took me out on the Dream (the name we gave an old aluminum fishing boat that we painted together because it would forever dream of being something bigger and better) and taught me to fish.

Let's stop there a second.

 Fishing with me consists of Dad baiting my hook, me castin', catchin', and reelin' in the fish, and Dad taking the fish off the hook. He did most of the work. He never minded though. I was a girly girl dressed in muddy boots from hopping the creek, my Daddy's baggy flannel shirt, and a crooked baseball cap. I loved it because I fit in with him. I was his girl--even if just for the few hours we were floating about Douglas Lake on the Dream.

Most of those fishing trips were spent with Dad fishing and me singing. Loud. Conway, Merle, and Hank Jr. were frequent company via the little radio we carried with us. One afternoon, I decided I was going to accompany Conway on the "pom pom pom" song. Dad was so tickled. And proud of me for memorizing a Conway Twitty classic. Ever since that day, every time I would talk to him, whether on the phone or on Facebook, he would undoubtedly say "pom pom pom, pearl".

Can't he just say that to me one more time?

One warm summer afternoon, we were in a cove on Douglas fishing for crappie. I suppose I had just learned all the words to the National Anthem because I sang it to him (and the entire lake) over and over and over again. I didn't hold back in the upper register, either. Dad finally decided he was taking me back to the dock. "Can't catch nurry a one out here with you caterwallin' like that Pearl".

What I would give to have more time with him. Isn't that the sentiment of everyone who has ever lost someone they love? I have been so insensitive to death. No longer.

This is the song I sang (okay, attempted to sing) at my Daddy's funeral. (I know you hate to, but you'll need to pause Conway for a second to hear this song.)  It's on my iPhone's "Purchased" playlist. I often forget that and as my phone shuffles through tunes to play, that one comes up so often it seems. Most of the time, I skip it. I can't bear the memory. Or I don't want to let it ruin that moment that I feel okay about all of it. Other times, I seek it out. I turn on that song along with all of the songs on the playlist that you are hearing. I pull up my Snapfish account that has the pictures from his funeral and I put them on the slideshow setting.

 And I sit. And I weep. And I remember. And I feel. And it hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Just one more conversation. One more hug. One more kiss on the forehead. One more "pom pom pom". One more call to check on Emily and Anderson and "Sarge" (dad's name for Jonathan).  I say "just one more", but the reality is that one more would never be enough. I would always long for more and more.

Of all the things I have faced in my 22 years, the death of my father is the most perplexing and the most painful.

I am thankful for the grace to forgive. I can remember my years with him with fondness. Suddenly, the memories seem to be dripping with Dad's love for me. I wish that I could have seen it when I had him with me, but I see it now. And I'm thankful. I refuse to let bitterness, anger, and a begrudging attitude hinder his memory.

Many things are happening in life right now. I have one week of college left. And for that I am grateful as well. It's hard to believe it is almost over. It has been five years since I began my college journey (yes, it has definitely been a journey). The end has seemed so unattainable--out of reach. But here it is. It is approaching full steam ahead with no time to stop and savor the moment. I tend to think that the more I struggle, despise, and dread something, the sweeter it is when it is finally passed. That sweet day is coming. Coming very soon.

I have been "training" to run a 5k. I am about a week and a half away from completing the training program. I am very much looking forward to running in a race soon. It will be my first one. I am proud of my newly developed habit.

My children both have birthdays in the next couple months. As do I. As soon as Emily found out that Mommy's birthday is coming close to her own, she has asked me about ten times a day "Are you going to be old on your birthday?" She also asks everyone else that we see--especially strangers. I'm pretty sure that twenty-three doesn't quite count as "old" yet. Maybe in her sweet mind.
She will be turning three in June. She is a bit obsessed with this fact and is a pro at showing you just how many three is on her fingers. Anderson will have his first birthday shortly after Emily's 3rd. I already know what he is going to do with his birthday cake....and it won't be pretty. But it will be fun. These are the days that will forever hold a special place in our hearts.

I wish my Dad could be here to see it all. He would be so proud of me for graduating and "gettin' educated".  Through this, I've learned to cling tightly to those that I do have here with me.


A song that's been in my head lately reads:

My heart can sing when I pause to remember a heartache here is but a stepping stone.
Along the trail that's winding always upward, this trouble world is not my final home.
But until then, my heart will go on singing.