On the weirdness of February 9
Thoughts on grief + a stack of delights
When I was a little kid, I used to play hairdresser with my dad. I’d wait until he came home from work, then begged him to sit on our golden-colored velvet couch (sealed off with vinyl covers, of course) while I climbed up behind him on the back of the couch, supported by the wall behind me. The first step was to get my hands in there and mess up my dad’s hair, making it all crazy. Then I’d take a tiny plastic bottle full of water (how was this a good idea?) and squeezed a few drops of water into his thinning hair, “washing” it clean of the cares of the day. Then I would take a comb and rearrange his ‘do into its usual manner, parting it on the left side and tidying everything up. At this point, I would instruct Dad to put down his newspaper, hoist me up onto his shoulders, and walk toward the front door to examine my work in the hallway mirror. I always wanted to know if I had gotten the part right, and he always said I did (while rearranging it subtly with the comb).
Then we would sit back down and do the whole thing again!
Me and Dad, circa 1980. (Note the vinyl furniture covers.)
Today marks 40 years since my dad died — suddenly, from a massive heart attack. He was 48 years old. I was 12 days shy of turning ten, and my brother had just had his seventeenth birthday. At the funeral, I never got a good look at him in the casket, but I remember my Uncle Tim saying that they had parted his hair wrong.
Nevin and Sara coo over baby Vincent (circa 1968).
Over the years, I’ve struggled to find the right way to observe February 9, the day of Dad’s untimely death. For most of my childhood and teenage years, I kind of ignored it, feeling uncomfortable and anxious all day long but lacking the words to express how I felt. There were years when I leaned into grief, journaling and thinking about my dad, working out all the suppressed feelings with a trusted therapist. Then came a series of years when I just felt strange, not sensing a real need to feel sad but without a good way to mark the day.
About five years ago, I experimented with establishing February 9 as my annual “day of self-care.” I reasoned that this day was not the best opportunity to remember my dad, but it was a good time to acknowledge the trauma of his death and its effect on my life. That day was a big success, and now I take February 9 as a day to do whatever I like: bake cookies, nap, watch a movie, read a book. We always get dinner out and everyone is extra-nice to me. This year, I sang in our church choir (always a delight), then hopped on down to the Art Institute for the afternoon, stopping for an avocado toast at Goddess and the Baker. I’ve been feeling introspective, so I decided listen (again) to this honest and healing conversation about grief between Stephen Colbert and Anderson Cooper. Tonight, Rosie and Jon and I had an outing to the bookstore and a yummy dinner of Lebanese food.
Me, demonstrating at one of my many protests in 1976-77. I think those are Dad’s arms, intervening for the good of the community.
Although the anniversary of my dad’s death is not a delight, I am grateful for the sweet memories I have of him and for the gifts that have grown from the ashes of our loss. Stephen Colbert talks about “seeing that pain as something that can warm you and light your knowledge of what other people might be going through.” I’ve been learning for forty years that the loneliness of grief actually connects all of us deeply, linking us together in the mystery of human existence.
And when that all feels too heavy, we can just eat some ice cream for a re-set. It always works!
More Delights: February 9, 2025
I have been receiving many delights from you all and I cherish them! Stories of morning routines and kind words and spontaneous connections and little sensory joys. I love it all! Thank you for sending them along and celebrating my upcoming birthday with me! You can go here to find my first three delights (and the premise of this collection).
The memory of my dad and my childhood “hair salon,” described above — that’s a good delight for today.
Wearing pearls for courage. Many years ago, Jon’s parents gave me this gift of pearls (necklace crafted by Dora) and I’ve loved it ever since. During the pandemic, I started wearing them almost daily, especially when I felt that I needed a boost to help me be brave. I still wear my pearls for date nights and fun outings, but if you see me wearing them on a regular Tuesday, it’s a good sign that I needed an extra boost of courage that day.
Pearls for courage!
Comfort films. This could be a whole category in itself as our family has a rich history of watching, re-watching, and memorizing entire scenes from favorite movies. But perhaps my favorite comfort film for the month of February is Sabrina — the 1995 version with Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford.1 A young girl goes to Paris, experiences personal transformation, returns home with a dramatic haircut, and suddenly enraptures her longtime crush. What’s not to like? Best viewed with a box of chocolates.
This is Blueberry Johnny Cake, Jeni’s newest flavor this month. It is worth eating.
A spontaneous visit to Jeni’s Ice Cream. Anyone who has hung around me for a little while knows how much I like Jeni’s, so this isn’t a big surprise. Jeni’s is always delightful! But the extra-special delight comes from an unplanned stop, especially when one is just starting to feel a little peckish. Like today, for example — I popped in on my way back from the Art Institute to try their newest flavor. Just one scoop doesn’t spoil an appetite! #noregrets
Wearing shawls. I’m a big fan of the shawl, especially in my hot-flash prone state. One large piece of fabric can serve as a scarf, a shoulder wrap, or even a blanket — but it can be quickly and easily removed if the inner temperature spikes abruptly. This flexibility is such a delight! My very favorite shawls are not cheap, but I’ve been able to collect a few over the years between generous birthday gifts and intermittent sales.
The Bridgerton soundtrack. Whether or not you’re a fan of the show, I recommend the soundtrack — it’s just the kind of lyric-free music that helps me focus and soothe my rough edges. I especially find delight in the way it introduces me to pop songs that I later hear playing in public and then think, “Oh! That’s from Bridgerton!” Somehow it provides a pathway between me and GenZ — a bridge, if you will.
Keep sending delights, if you’d like! You can find the instructions here.
I have strong feelings about the lack of chemistry between Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart in the original 1954 version. I’m willing to argue my point on this if needed.
Well, I guess I need to set my calendar so I can remember the day of Nev's passing. I have no recollection of his hair parted on the wrong side - it was a very sad day for me - his funeral. I cried harder than I ever had. Thanks for the memories, NA!
Beautiful reflection and a helpful path for processing grief, especially the effects on your own life. Thanks, Ann!