Eric was seriously funny. I have tried to describe that here, but without his wit and facility for words, I can only fall short. He always saw the humor in things, and could make you laugh even in tense situations. You know those times, hours after a conversation, when you come up with the perfect funny response? Eric did that in the moment. It’s hard to live up to.
Eric wouldn’t want us to sit around and mourn. He would have jollied us up and made us laugh and helped us to move on. But he can’t do that for us now. When I’m with my parents I feel a need to try and take on that role, but I’m not very good at it. Eric could get away with outrageous behavior that I can’t even imagine. Who else would have put a baby in a pot on the stove to take a picture? Who else would have worn footie pajamas at age 32? Who else would have decided that the offered dessert wasn’t good enough and melted Milky Ways and goldfish together in the microwave? Who else would have wanted to?
As we get closer to that one time of year when my whole family gets together, Thanksgiving, I worry about who will make us laugh. Admittedly, we have months to go yet, but I know every member of my family is worrying about this. That holiday will probably be harder than the actual anniversary.
I want to fill the holes that Eric left behind and be everything to my parents. But this is one role I’m just not qualified to take on.
It will help to have my kids there; they provide comic relief just by being 6 and 3. Still, it will be hard to find that balance between remembering and grieving, celebrating and crying.
It is hard for me to look out into the marsh in my parent’s backyard where we scattered some of Eric’s ashes. Still, I think it will help knowing he is there. And who knows? Maybe inspiration will strike and I’ll find my inner comedian. If I do, I know I’ll have Eric to thank.
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