truvy
Thursday, May 02, 2002
Guilt trip
While home in Texas, I met my friend Will & his boyfriend Porter for lunch at Pappadeaux. I had a beer and was feeling warm & fuzzy as I headed back up Central Expressway to my Mom's house in McKinney. I was thinking of stopping at the outlet mall (they have a Barney's outlet, maybe find some discount designer duds) or maybe Western Warehouse for a new pair of slightly-irregular boots at a hugely discounted price. Then, right at 635/LBJ Freeway, I saw a sign which snapped me to attention. "Restland" is the big white sign with an arrow indicating to "exit here", each letter a separate white box with the black "R", "E", etc. spelling out the name of the largest cemetery in Dallas. I hadn't even thought to visit my father's grave. What kind of son am I? I had of course thought about my father - there's a picture of him in the guest bedroom (which I'm sure my mother's husband doesn't like), and Mama and I had laughed over a few memories and stories. But I hadn't thought to go there. I cut through 3 lanes of traffic and made it to the following exit, made a u-turn at the next one and went off to Restland. I bought a bunch of white mums (hardy enough to withstand some Texas 90+ degree weather) and drove over to his grave sight. It's weird to see your own name on a gravestone. "R...L...C (mine has a II) Father, Husband, Friend". It's been 14 years at the end of this month. "14 years, a hell of a lot has happened since then Dad, a hell of a lot", I said out loud, as I finished pulling the grass that was growing over the corners of the stone. I decided not to tell my mom about the stop. Right now, I think it would just depress her.
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