missing sounds

Every once in a while since my dad died, I have times when I am angry with God. Not only did he make my dad go through a destructive disease, but then he had the nerve to take him. There are other times, I am so grateful to Him for letting me be the one that cared for him and helping me learn the ultimate lesson of love and compassion. Such a flip flop of thoughts, and I know it.

I went to church this evening with my son. My plan was to pray for another successful year at college for him. But it was out of my hands, as the priest gave a homily partly addressing grief. I tried to hold it together, but it was hard to do. Whenever I go to church, I think about my dad. Growing up, we went to mass every single Sunday. When on vacations, he always found the Catholic church in the area for us to attend. When I came home from college for a visit, he still got me up to go - and I dared not decline his "offer". The prayers in church do not change. The ones we say are the ones that have always been said. The Catholic church is strong on tradition, in case you didn't know. I hear my dad reciting the prayers. His intonations, his phrasing of the words, were always just a bit different from the congregation's, and his booming voice stood out. I hear him loudly singing the prayers and songs. I hear him sneeze or loudly blowing his nose there. I swear, he blew his nose every time we went to church...and in a handkerchief too. eeewwww! I see the seat that he and I sat in the last time we attended together. It made me sad.

I miss him.