People remember my daddy's good looks, charm, and kindness. But mostly what they remember is the sadness in his eyes. Like death and taxes, it was always there although he never spoke of it.
His marriage was a burden and a heavy weight that he carried without complaint or comment for the better part of 40 years. He kept his unhappiness to himself, believing, I think, that his responsibility mattered more than his personal troubles. He had chosen unwisely but it had been his choice and he would see it through. He never saw the point of pouring out his heart to his family and spreading the bitterness. He never blamed my mother and he never considered abandoning her. He saw himself as an honorable man and honorable men don't jump ship in rough seas - they sacrifice and ride it out. In a way, I suppose it was admirable but it was also foolish and wasteful. It was a mistake that could've been corrected.
Instead, he shared his love of life and quiet ways with others that loved him back. My cousin Linda, my friend Iris, and their friends were welcomed into his life. He spent precious time with his brother's children and his own cousins. He comforted strangers who had lost loved ones with a gentle touch and a soft voice. He played music and read as many books as he could find and in the end, chose a life of seeing others through difficult times while silently coping with his own. He didn't look back.
It was only right that after some 70 years of living for others, he should find his soulmate. It's never too late to learn to dance.
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