I was going through the 3,000+ photos I have on my computer today, and came across this little prize. To someone with an undiscerning eye, it's nothing special, but to me it has value beyond words.
This gem of a photo was taken at our family Christmas in 2006. My oldest sister, Jenny, and her family were up from Branson, my dad was down from Custer, S.D., and we were all happily crammed in my sister Tammy's tiny two bedroom home in good ol' BC. We were getting ready to open presents when I noticed that Jenny had a hole in her sock. I of course noticed the hole, and the toe sticking out of it, and in true Gail fashion, had to call her out on it.
Now, if you don't know me very well, you'd probably get offended quickly by my blatantness. I'm a call it like I see it type of girl, especially when it's something I find funny. Of course, my family understands and appreciates this quality, as we all share it in different forms. Anyway, after calling attention to my sister's wonderful sock, we all had a great laugh before we exchanged gifts with one another. It was one of many shared laughs that holiday, and I treasure it deeply because it was the last healthy Christmas we had as a family.
At about September, 2007, our Mom had broken her back in a horse riding accident and our Dad had to have his heart valves replaced and also had some type of infection that he couldn't quite overcome. They were in hospitals, one in Nebraska, the other in South Dakota, for months each. We didn't know if our mom would walk again and we didn't know if our dad would even live. It was very hard for my sisters and I to balance our families, work, and the helplessness we felt when it came to our parents. I thank God that we at least had each other because I know I would have been lost without them.
Our mom was able to recover to the point where she could walk again with the help of a cane, but dad just couldn't quite fully recover. After spending early 2008 miserable in more hospitals, including the Mayo Clinic, he finally got his wish in April to go back to the Black Hills and be home. On May 13, 2008, at the age of 52, his heart finally gave up and he passed away. I miss him greatly. Especially now that I'm pregnant with his granddaughter that he will never meet.
Now, I realize this post has taken a depressing turn. It was not my intention when I began writing tonight to go in this direction, but once I found myself traveling down that road, I couldn't stop. I don't usually allow myself to go back to that place where I still have that raw emotion that came when I lost my dad. I force myself to think of happier things when something reminds me of him, or I know the floodgates will just open and not stop.
A few months ago, my sister Jenny wrote a story for her composition class that involved our dad. It was an innocent story about the time a rabid raccoon came into the back door of our trailer house when we were little and how dad came to the rescue by chasing it up a tree and shooting it. She read it to me so I could help her edit it, and by the middle we were both in tears. She was able to write it, but for some reason when she read it to me, it struck something in the both of us. She felt bad that she made me cry, and now I feel bad that now I'm probably making her cry too.
It's really random how a photo of a holy sock can bring out so many memories and emotions. I want to laugh remembering how funny it was and I want to cry remembering that last good Christmas with our dad. I guess it just shows you how even though a photo can appear to have no meaning, it can actually mean everything to someone.
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