Lately I have been expending a lot of mental energy trying to define who I am. My thoughts have been saturated by memories of my father, and my role as a daughter (since we never really got along).
My first role in life was that of a daughter, and as the first born, you could say I was the guinea pig and while the majority of the time my parents were intense/strict/unfair, I can honestly say that I never did question their love.
With the anniversary of my fathers death looming on the horizon, memories of the past have been flooding. The last time I say my father alive was Novenber 23, 2006 Thanksgiving Day, we sat across from each other sharing a bottle of Martinelli's. Our last conversation was an argument on the night of November 26, I was invited to family dinner, but I was too busy preparing for a job interview the next morning. I never knew that would be the last time I would speak to him. Aita died on the morning of November 27, 2006, the same day that I interviewed for and accepted the job at my dream company.
The family was planning to meet at my Ttantta's house, I was late leaving my house, and called my youngest brother to check in and see if I was going to be in trouble. Turns out he and Aita
has gotten into an argument and he had refused to attend family dinner. With much bribery on m,y part, and the promise that only his music would play for the entire two hour drive, I had my brother dressed nice, and in the car on his way to Thanksgiving. At the time I just remember thinking how greatful I was that my family would all be together.
This particular drive has become one of my favorites, in that Drew (who was 14 at the time) and I were given the opportunity to really talk. We had by far the best BIG/little chat about girls, school, and our parents who never seemed to understand.
Never did anyone see that this would be our last opportunity to spend time with my fathers, hearing his outrageous stories, or hearing his roaring laughter.
So much of that day is forever ingrained in my heart, I remember my fathers excitement as he told me about the book(The Prayer of Jabez) that I had given him. We shared memories, and laughter, and smiles, sober, lighthearted, and unforgettable!
Had I know it was my last opportunity to sit and talk with my father, things would have been different. I would have told him I loved him, and that I was sorry for all the strife I had caused him and my mother over the years. Aita Je t'aime
"And Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, Oh that Thou wouldest bless me indeed, and enlarge my coast, and that Thine hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldest keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me! And God granted him that which he requested."
1 Chronicles 4:10
.jpg){kind=spacer}
Part II
