Dad and Cinco De Mayo

Six years ago, my father died on May 5th.  I would do anything except harm my family to have more time with him.  I was lucky, I had him for 80 years.  But it was no where near enough.  My dad was truly a red neck from the back woods of Missouri.  But you would be amazed what a red neck with an eighth grade education can do if he sets his mind to it.  To look at my dad, you would never have guessed he was a plane captain and readied A-6 after A-6 for the Navy to take into combat.  The Vietnam War was very real in my house because we saw very little of dad during it.  One of my favorite smells of growing up was my dad coming home covered in jet fuel.  He had to come home to change as it were.

Dad’s other project was his garden, more of a mini farm.  He grew up on his parent’s farm.  He bought the biggest lot on our street and filled it with trees and plants.  His apricots grew as large as peaches.  Neighbors kind of hated to see him coming after awhile, because he always dropped out fruit.  Apples kind of defeated him here, it really isn’t cold enough to grow the ones he liked.

While my dad’s death was quick as these things go, it wasn’t dainty or pretty, or even perhaps necessay even at that time.  My dad’s religion was a big part of his life, and he was ready to go when called.  He just wasn’t quite finished yet.  To make matters worse, my mom was in the hospital with a medical problem, and I was laid up with severe cellulitis.  I wasn’t supposed to walk at all.  I still went to the funeral.  Needless to say, dad’s death did not speed my recovery.  Worse of all, dad died of pneumonia in the end, the thing he least wanted to die of (God has a a wierd sense of humor).  Dad raised three girls and married a girly girl.  Out of this, he produced one girly girl (the meanest and smartest), one tomboyish, (me) and one who may be gay or is still seeking.   Strangely enough, all of his grandchildren are boys, two from the girly girl (a little disappointed I think) and two from the tomboy.  No. 3 is still seeking.

With his death, Cinco de Mayo has now become about his death.  I don’t enjoy hearing celebrations on this day, and almost every reference to it really makes me sad.  I know the Mexican culture celebrates a day of the dead, but that hasn’t worked for me.  Cinco de Mayo is still my day of the dead.  So, while I don’t expect others to not celebrate their holiday, please understand that I cannot join you as of yet.  Even after six years, I cannot separate death and Cinco de Mayo.