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“Pull Over!”

One year ago. I hop out of the car. I dash over to my sister Sandra’s window.

“We are eating here!”

I am beyond joyful even though I must admit, losing my father was a jolt. In his honor, I share this page from my private journal because miraculously, his passing was one of the most beautiful gifts I think our family ever received — for it brought us back together.

I point across the sidewalk — amazed. This is the exact spot I was telling Ken and Marissa that I remembered being at with my dad when I was a little girl.

“Oh my Gosh!”

Sandra squeals. “How did you see this from the road?”

Sandra’s husband Don holds the door open as the six of us pile into this quaint Texas-style restaurant located in the heart of Wilmette, Illinois. One by one we step inside without saying a word. We cannot believe we are beaming when only minutes ago we were crying.

Marissa points to the bass fiddle player on stage.

“How - did - you – see – the – bass fiddle – from –the road?”

Marissa whispers into my shoulder while Sandra and I mimick our dad who was playing this imaginary instrument with his fingers the day he ‘came back to life’ at the hospital. He had been in a coma for days, then for an hour he woke up.

 

How is this possible? Why a bass fiddle? After all of the years that me and my sisters listened to our father play the trumpet – why was he playing an imaginary bass fiddle at the hospital in the middle of his coma?

Sandra lifts a gold candle from the center of the table.

“Debbie! These are the same candles we had in our house before mom and dad divorced. Remember?”

I do remember. They were in the basement. It is so nice to see my sister remembering the happy things from our childhood. Watching her glow made me wish I was a sponge so that I could lop it all up. I loved it that much.

For many years I never thought this reconnection between my sister and I would ever happen. In fact, I didn’t even realize we were estranged. I assumed we were just busy… busy with our own ‘families’. Doing what mattered most. Sure, some of it was priority. But even so, it kept us apart. Now I see how there is no amount of space that can separate sisters souls when they rediscover each other.

Look at Sandra — dad, can you see her? Squealing over candles that used to be in our basement 35 years ago – giggling over bass fiddles that just a few days ago you were playing with your fingers.

Don waves his hands in front of us. He simply cannot take it any longer. He wants in on the joke.

“Somebody has got to tell me what’s so significant about the bass fiddle!”

Sandra and I bust out laughing. “Are you sure you really want to know?”

Marissa raises her Sprite. Kyle is the first to bang her glass.

“To grandpa, to grandpa, to dad, to dad, to Les, to Les…”

We look upward through the ceiling tiles.

Dad — I love you. Thank you. I lit a candle tonight…