Listing

Daddy and Daughter

I'm one of those people who keeps lots of lists. They help me plan and organize and remember. I keep a grocery list, a "to do" list at both home and the office. I make a weekly list of dinners to cook, I actually build my grocery list off this list. I keep a small, travel notebook listing all our journeys, noting every confirmation number, our frequent flyer codes, dinner reservations, hotel addresses and phone numbers. Before we travel I make a packing list. They are pretty basic these days but when the kids were little my lists were pages long of baby equipment like sippy cups, baby monitors, extra diapers, wipes, and binkies. At Christmas time I keep a list of all the people we need to buy gifts for and I make notes of what we bought and how much we spent. It comes in handy the next year when setting a holiday shopping budget.

I keep mental lists too of home improvement projects we've talked about and of places we've dreamed of visiting. My bucket list has never been put down on paper, but it's all organized in my head and has big things like hang gliding and little things like sampling every flavor cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory and things that will probably never come to pass like getting to name a city street. And, in any given week, I would keep a running checklist in my head of things to talk to my dad about come Sunday.

Toboggan Down the Great Wall of China

Though not unusual to talk to my parents, my mom especially, several times during a week, it was on Sundays that I was guaranteed to talk to my dad. A day of rest, a day where he was not working or not running errands, it was on Sunday that I would be sure to dial him up and run through my weekly list with him. My lists differed each week in length and in content. We would talk about my kids, things they had done or said, accomplishments they had made, activities they were participating in. We talked about plans we each had, stuff that occupied our time or we were setting aside time to do. Sometimes I would ask him for advice or a favor. Sometimes he would ask me the same. We gossiped sometimes, like old women, and we reminisced a lot. We laughed loud and often. I miss the laughing.

Father Daughter Dance at my Wedding

I called my dad on Sunday, April 7, 2019. The ringing of the phone interrupted an intense game of Scrabble he was playing with my mom. I remember my first thought was to say, "I'll call you back." But I decided, nah, I was going to push on with the conversation. I feared I would get caught up in Sunday night dinner and kids' homework and the call would fall through the cracks. So, we talked. We talked about planting palm trees, about the Kiss concert Eugene and I attended a few days before and about how old Gene Simmons was but how he was still in full make-up, spitting blood, wagging that tongue all around. We talked about his plans to retire the following month and this epic road trip he was going to take with my mom, heading south, stopping to see us, his brother, Tom, and lots of sites and cities in between. I checked all these topics off my list and as we were about to hang up, I realized one more note on my list. "Oh dad," I said, halting our good-byes. "I bought those tickets for the Broadway tour of Beautiful. I got them for Mother's Day, for mom, so you just need to make sure you're at my house for Mother's Day." "We'll be there," he said.

A little over 30-hours later, my phone rang, in the middle of the night. Immediately, my heart sank. Nothing good happens at 2:30am. And I realized, as I reached for the phone, that whoever's name I saw on the screen, the other would be in trouble. The screen said "Mom".

World's Greatest Grandpa

Today marks a year since that phone call. A year without my dad. A year that spurred a whole bunch of new, not particular fun, lists. Lists of funeral thank you notes to pen. Lists of businesses to send death certificates to, accounts to change names on, lists of loose ends to tie up. Lists of home improvements needed on my parents' house to get it ready for market. Lists of apartments, preferably ground level, to tour with my mother. Lists
of utility shut offs and turns on. Lists of occasions and "firsts" to muddle through without my dad's smile and jokes and fun sarcasm, without his support and guidance and love.

And then there is my list, my Sunday call list, which just keeps on running. I have added so much to it in the past 12 months, there is just so much to tell. And let's face it, my list, it's just going to grow bigger and bigger. But that's ok because the next time I see my dad, our time together will be eternal and unlimited so I'm fairly certain we'll be able to cover it all. Until then, I'll just keep on listing because I'm one of those people who keeps lots of lists. They help me plan and organize and remember. And I don't ever want to forget.