PaperWork: I do cherish the memories but something is still missing

My “Blue Book” is open and saddens my day, on this Nov. 18.

Each week I open the calendar book I’ve used since 1980 to note birthdays and events in my life and others. And deaths.

The 18th marked 10 years since my dad passed in his hospice bed in a nearby nursing home. He now is in the Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery south of Joliet. Mom is with him. She passed four years later.

The Blue Book also reminded me last week that I have been writing this regular column since 2007, starting on Nov. 10. Over those 17 years, I’ve written about my parents many times – before and after they passed. I write about my life a lot and they were certainly a big part of that.

I likely will continue to write about them because it keeps them in my life. They are still teaching me things. And now and then I can still see them giving me that look. You know the look, right? That think-hard-about-what-you’re-doing look.

I keep finding reasons to talk about them. Like today, I had this thought about the people in my life who are gone. Family and friends. And I worry about many who are still standing. They are fewer in number now.

I could list the things about each that I miss. Like watching my dad toss horseshoes or earlier days when he joined us on the volleyball court every year. Or listening to his banter and chiding at the poker table. And mom … making popcorn and fudge and seeing her laugh or smile. She never did it enough.

Yeah, I could do a long checklist, as if that is why I miss them. But is it? That is how memories work, I guess. We treasure moments in time. Don’t we all try to relive those moments or retell the stories.

Like the time Dad silently fell out of the boat while we were fishing. I turned and he was gone ... until he burst back to the surface and rolled soaking back into the boat. I could only stare. Mom insisted he put railings on the boat. He did. Painted them red.

Many of my memories of Mom are of her in the kitchen. Often smoking. But I prefer to see her dancing with Dad. Poetry in motion. Seeing them both happy was special. Or when she challenged the grandkids to a race. They laughed at her. She won.

You see what I mean. These memories help me be with them again. But, like I said, I think there’s more to it than clutching memories. Or listing what you miss.

Making that list is a good start. When I miss someone I should think about all that I miss about that person. Maybe even write it all down. What is it that I miss?

The smell of fried chicken or that popcorn. Fishing all day in a small boat. The funny quips and laughter in the room. Christmas mornings. Birthday cakes. Is that what I really miss?

I do relish those memories. But there’s a gaping hole, a simple truth – they are gone. I miss them just being here. Especially parents but same goes for friends.

And there’s something that might be even more important. Another telling truth. It’s not just that I miss those who are gone. I am missing more than who they were and why there were special.

I think what I really miss is who I was when I was with them – family and friends. How they made me feel about myself and who I wanted to be … for them.

I will clutch and savor memories but I am not sure they can spark those feelings again. Not the same way, anyway. Not the same way.

If there’s a checklist, that is it. That is what I miss the most.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.