Another day in Paradise

I'm sitting in Mom's bed waiting on her to get out of the shower and decide what we are going to do about lunch. In my family we don't "eat to live" we live to eat! My dad would be eating breakfast and say "What are we going to do about lunch?" We planned trips around places to eat. On our trips to San Antonio Dad would say "We can stop in Baytown at Luby's or there is a Cracker Barrel next door to that motel we usually stay in." He would plan the food stops and we would plan the other stops. If we waited a while to eat he would get upset. "Well, I don't know what y'all are doing next, but I'm eating!"The man was a card. We could spend hours in a James Avery Silversmith store and he would look or sit on a bench, but don't be late with his food.
I am writing this because this Sunday is Father's Day and then Monday, 22 June is the second anniversary of Dad's death. That is a dumb way to put it. I think of anniversary's as happy times, as in marriages, not in terms of someones death. But what else do you call it? We should have another word. We have Memorial Day to honor the fallen soldiers from the War Between the States and now all wars. Maybe we should call the anniversary of someones death memorial day. We could say, "I'm going to the cemetery for Dad's second memorial day." Then you would know that Dad has been dead 2 years. Mom suggested celebration day. That it is a celebration that he is in heaven. I am not celebrating anything. It is a bitch that he is gone. I am not happy about it and never will be. Many days I don't think about him being dead and then every now and then it hits me like a sledge hammer to the gut. Some song will set me off and I will cry for hours. I know it is worse for Mom because she was with him for 58 years and then however many years before that that she knew him.
They always tell you after the death that time helps and it truly does. But it is still a bitch that can be as fresh as a knife wound. Sometimes I liken it to a paper cut. Paper cuts are little and don't bleed much, but move the cut the wrong way and it hurts like hell. That sums up in a very small way the pain of my dad's death.
Oh, yeah. We are having fresh tomato sandwiches with lots of mayo for lunch. With real Coke. No chips 'cause we are getting our salt on the fresh tomatoes. Did I mention they are fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes hand-picked by my friends, Janice and Angie? All I have to say is, umm-umm-umm good!