A Memory, In Memory

There is no denying the wonder and beauty of remembering the special moments in our lives; those precious seconds engraved in our minds forever to be replayed in hopes of never forgetting what is truly important to us. With that, these past few years have helped me to better understand and truly appreciate the power of memory and the need to cherish those things closest to us for all eternity.
For reasons I have only recently come to understand, my brothers and I stopped seeing our father shortly after the divorce of our parents. There was to be, as I remember, a temporary separation; time needed to have us all grow accustomed to our new lives as a family torn apart. There was a painful sense of displacement and detachment, which I understand now usually accompanies the knowledge that the life we once took for granted would no longer be the same. The weeks without seeing our father quickly became months, and the months turned to years. As I was a teenager at that time, I saw little and understood even less, and it was much easier believing that this was all part of growing up. Life continued to march onward; in fact, at one point we hadn't seen our father in over 20 years.
And yet, as fate usually has it, my wife and I were eating dinner one night in a crowded shopping mall over an hour from my home, when our eyes caught the gaze of an older gentleman sitting at a table nearby. While his frequent glances were far from menacing, a certain panic hit me as he stood up and walked the few steps to where we were seated. I avoided making eye contact with this stranger for as long as I could, fearing that invited some conversation. However, he cleared his throat, and almost by instinct, I looked right into his eyes. He hesitated, then asked me kindly, "Robbie, is that you?" My childhood nickname, which I had not heard in all these years, brought me back to my youth in an instant. I couldn't fathom what was unfolding before me, and I struggled to say something- anything. All I could muster was, "Pop...it's been...a long time." I stood up, and hugged him as hard as I could to make up for all the years we'd been apart. I was proud to introduce my wife to him, and he to her; a meeting long overdue. The hours which followed flew by as we told story after story to each other, desperately trying to bridge the gap of time since we last saw each other. I remember him vividly hanging on every my word, as I described in great detail what my brothers and I had accomplished and what we were still hoping to do. How wonderful it was to unfold the past as we both did, filling each other in on the details- some long forgotten, others taken far too much for granted- of our lives apart. Sadly, part of our wonderful discussion that evening was the learning of the recent passing of my grandparents, as well as the deaths of many of my wonderful relatives over the past few years. Yes, in the time we spent together that evening, I learned the joys and sorrows my father had been through- memories that, ironically enough, are mine now, and are part of who I am- although I will never be able to experience them myself.
In a perfect world, this is where the story goes on to explain how father and sons spent years together making up for lost time; yet, fate had a hand in this as well. Only a handful of years after this joyous reunion, cancer took away what we had struggled so mightily to rebuild. This past weekend, as is usually my habit, I had my journal with me as I sat next to my father's grave, reflecting and writing to ease the pain of being separated once again. I wrote that while these past years have done little to ease the burden of his loss, I know cherish the brief time we spent together that much more. Those memories are, for me, the ones that will last a lifetime.

Mr. Balch