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The Price You Pay for Love
I try to call my dad every day, maybe every other day. Well, no more than two days will go by that I don’t talk with him. Anyhoo…
INT — FAMILY ROOM — DAY
I’m FaceTiming with my dad. He’s wearing glasses I haven’t seen before. They look sharp, fashionable.
Steve: New glasses, Pop?
Dad: No, they’re Mom’s.
Steve: Oh, well, they look good on you. They just readers?
Dad (beginning to cry): Yeah.
Steve: Don’t cry, Pop.
Dad (crying): I’m fine.
Steve: You’re not wearing Mom’s clothes or anything?
Dad (regaining composure): What?
Steve: Do not start wearing Mom’s clothes because that would be too much. That’s a bridge too far, Pop. We’d have to draw the line.
Dad (annoyed but hopefully amused): Get outa here.
Steve: The glasses do look cool, though. So good work.
Dad: Mmm.
Full disclosure: I’m not normally a total putz to my dad. I’m generally very kind and supportive (truly), but if I find room for humor, I will always take a shot.
Fuller disclosure: My father had/has an enormous love for my mom. He would trade everything to have her back, which I think is the core essence of grief. So he still carries a lot of sadness and loss. A lot. But I think that’s the price you pay for love.
Fullest disclosure: Grief is real. It’s hard. C’est la vie, non? 💪🏼❤️
