Comfort in a Silent Sunset

As I was driving to pick up Emily, I glanced in my rear-view mirror. The late afternoon sky was putting on quite the show. The swirl of colors and subtle changes from yellow, orange, and purple delighted my senses. Southern California sunsets in January are always spectacular. The memory of that day comes back. We were sitting out on the jetty and sharing a beer as the sunset. Only sixteen, with our lives ahead of us, and yet, we had already experienced so much love and loss. God sure painted a lovely picture over the ocean. The sun sank into the water slowly and spread golden rays of light that reflected off the water. The sea was calm mimicking a glassy lake. As the colors were enveloped by the sea, you and I sat in silence. There was nothing to be said. No words that would fix this. Nothing would bring him back.

I don’t know why I was driven to see him that day after school. Maybe I was trying to be mature, strong, and tough. The truth is, I was petrified. You offered to come in with me, and I was grateful. But you were relieved when I said I needed to go in alone. It was something that I had to face alone. There is so much compassion I hold for the little girl I was. She was pretending to be okay and able to handle this BIG thing alone. The independent spirit she inherited from the man she had just lost.

The reality is I wasn’t prepared to walk into that place and see his lifeless body. It broke me open. Everything that made him my Dad was gone. I didn’t recognize the person lying in the coffin. It was a one-dimensional vessel that was void of the joy, sparkle, and twinkle of the eye that was my Dad. The light was gone, and I lost it. I remember crying uncontrollably and practically running out of the mortuary. As I rushed to exit the building, I was followed by the echo of my heels as they clicked on the marble floors.

I ran to the van. You could see I was distraught, and you jumped out and grabbed me. I sobbed into your shirt and screamed over and over, “That wasn’t my Dad. He is gone. He is gone.” That is how we ended up at the jetty watching the sunset. It was your way of comforting me when words were not enough. 

That was 38 years ago. It feels like forever ago and like yesterday. We shared many sunsets on that pier, and shared many beers. We sat, mostly in silence, and let the water and the sun do the talking. I am grateful to have the memories of those special times. Time has dulled the pain of the loss of my Dad, but the pain of your loss is still fresh.

Lately, as I watch the sun begin to unwind and take a rest, I think of you. I try to recall how many times we watched the sunset and how easy it was. Our friendship required no words. We sat admiring the beauty beyond us and shared a drink in silence. Sometimes, as the sun begins to descend, I Drink a Beer, and allow the memories to fill the quiet.