It’s been two-and-half years since my dad passed away. My friend warned me, mourning the loss of a parent is like a vortex. You are spinning around in life, feeling fine. Then suddenly you are sucked in to the sorrow and spit back out. You don’t know when it’s going to happen. I have an idea when to expect it now, but I’m still surprised how reminders of my dad hit me hard sometimes.

Anything patriotic puddles me up. My dad loved baseball and the Navy. Put those two together at the seventh-inning stretch, when the military is honored with the singing of God Bless America, I get teary-eyed. Surprising me a little, but not bad. Last summer, however, at a live baseball game on the 4th of July, a giant American flag was unfurled on the field for the singing of the Star Spangled Banner. I almost lost it. Thank God for America and sunglasses. The stadium represented the American Melting pot, Spanish, Farsi, English, Chinese and Vietnamese words filled the air. I was wondering if all the baseball fans thought about what we were celebrating that day and how lucky we all were to be in the stadium to celebrate anything.

Everything related to World War II is a sure fire tear-trigger for me. Visiting Pearl Harbor was so emotional, my first revelation at getting sucked into the vortex and succumbing to a waterworks show. I know this about me now. I know. So why was I so surprised to puddle up this past Sunday before Veterans Day?

I lay peacefully sleeping Sunday morning, just starting to raise consciousness. I was thinking I should get up for church. I was thinking I should sleep too. I started mentally organizing my day and my week in my half-awake state. The kids are off school for Veterans Day. VETERANS DAY! Last year the church honored the Veterans. I wanted to be there for the recognition. The congregation is made up of mostly cotton-haired seniors. They remind me of my dad.

I got my butt in the pew. My Catholic mom always said going to church might give you a little extra for the week. Sometimes that’s my only motivation to get to church, a little better week. I sat there thinking about my dad, wondering when during the service the old guys would stand up so we could thank them. Next thing I know, a tear drips from my right eye. CRAP! My head is tilted to one side, the corner of my left eye is forming a well of water until it’s so full, a tear drips down my other cheek. I have been sucked into the vortex again, two-and-half years after the fact. Geez, I thought I was over my dad but apparently it never goes away.

My Favorite Veteran.

I tried to focus on the sermon, discretely brushing my cheeks. I thought about leaving, missing the “good stuff,” the sermon. Somehow, I pulled it together and stayed. Don’t ask me about the message; I won’t relay it well. Something about exploding iphones in a microwave being foolish and people thinking belief in God is foolish. I was biding my time until we could shake the hands of the WWII vets. It never came. Just like a lot of Americans, Veterans Day sneeked past even the ministers. I was disappointed and a little relieved. I was afraid of waterfalls and sobs.

On my way out, I nudged one of the cool ministers (he reads my blog), “Dude, ya forgot to recognize the Veterans. I flew out of bed to be here.” He felt bad and a little rattled. He was probably surprised Veterans Day could bring in the business; it’s kind of a mattress-sale holiday. Easter and Christmas produce the predictable masses. Last Sunday was a missed opportunity, at the first service.  The cool minister, an FB friend,  messaged me to say he asked the Vets to stand at the second service.  (He’s cool like that.)  Without hesitation, applause filled the church to the rafters, maybe heaven too but I can’t say for sure.

For the rest of us, it’s not too late to remember the men and women, who gave us the right to celebrate our country, unfurl our flag at baseball games and sing the national anthem and God Bless America.

Here’s to my dad, Francis, my favorite veteran.