Chip Shot (Rian Elliott)

“He will be missed.” The pastor’s voice rang out in declaration or command. Looking down, his voice softened in repetition.

“He will be missed by his wife Laura, and his precious daughter Barbara.”

Barbara half-turned and flicked her auburn waves and granite eyes over me.

Indeed, I always knew I’d miss Mel and a tear wound down my cheek unbidden. Barbara sniffed. Well, she had two parents, but she was her father’s girl.

As agreed we had a small gathering with refreshment in the church hall after the last prayer. It seemed more appropriate.

Not that I didn’t have my place in our family. Even when Barbara was very young he would only golf nine holes on the weekend, setting himself obstacles to practice chip shots in the backyard as she watched from her playpen or sandbox. Later they always enjoyed the dinner I had waiting after her soccer, basketball, volleyball games, and the snacks before practice, golf and piano and skating and sailing. Mel insisted on the sailing. Barbara was not to miss out on water sports as I did. In fact, almost half the backyard was devoted to a swimming pool when Barbara reached her teens, leaving a small section for his golf shots and less room for a shrub and plant surround. Admittedly, this served us well in her teenage years.

No wandering around shopping malls, she was in the backyard along with anyone considered suitable by Mel. My contribution was to see that he too had a usable share of the yard and to this end I tried to see that he had the tools to keep the yard in shape.

It took some continuous thought. On Father’s Day when the pool was put in I bought him a skimmer. Barbara gave him a model frog that same year. It sat on his desk till the day he died, or possibly the next. Barbara rescued it, she announced, just before the service. Though I can’t imagine what she thought would happen to it.

For every holiday, birthday, celebration thereafter I added to his repertoire kept in a small service shed between the pool and ‘his’ side yard. Increasingly, since the pool was hers and the green was his, servicing that fringe was left to me. But I did not give in.

From that Father’s Day forward I added clippers, little hoes, even a workshop on garden design at one point. He was happy enough to try each out at the beginning, but there was always some interruption from Barbara to see this, help someone do a somersault. So the yard work fell to me.

This took us through Barbara’s wedding at age 19, where the number of guests made garden upkeep a necessity. Even with a year’s warning outlining the circular path and the walkway to the reception area at the back was full-time effort every weekend. Mel did manage to cart the weeds and lay the bricks where outlined. To be fair, he also did a bit more when Barbara was gone. I was perfectly willing to encourage this with equipment that he did use, regardless of Barbara’s comments.

And on the last Father’s Day she gave a withering glance as I presented the crème de la crème for our garden upkeep. She had bought him a Golf Package which would involve touring ten top of the line courses within a day’s drive. That would hardly leave him time for chip shots on our small green square amidst the Japanese maples which were my one victory in yard planning. The woodchipper I presented to help keep his green space free excited no interest.

So I always knew I’d miss him, but then he returned. Even then if he had reappeared in total the first time I could have coped. Possibly even if he’d started with a mid-air smile. He and Barbara read Alice and the Cheshire Cat so many times it would have been a bit of a chuckle, maybe. But what anyone would make of a stray knee or a dangling ear lobe I can’t imagine.

I did try when his hand appeared close to mine while unlocking the side door. With a deep breath I reached out for what I hoped would be recognized as a reassuring pat. But it slipped quickly past and behind me.

Over time it seemed daylight was not a happy option. As we went along his parameters seemed to set themselves. Body parts and location never matched precisely but it did seem the uppermost portions were likelier when I was seated and reading, or sometimes having a morning coffee in the kitchen. Indeed one morning there was a glimpse of his right eye and I could have sworn he gave a wink, a ‘have a nice day’ nod to me if any message was intended.

The knees, feet and hands were more likely to appear when I was standing or walking around. I thought once when I saw a foot tapping in the middle of the living room he might be reminding me of how we used to dance. Ridiculous though I felt I found music for the tape deck and when the jive started I showed willing and held a hand out and open and head to the side, inviting him to join me. But this took too long perhaps, for he faded sadly rather than blinked away after one feeble turn.

Oddly, although he might appear in any of the downstairs rooms or windows, there was no glimpse outdoors either by the pool or the green.

From then on he appeared mostly near doorways. On that last day his hand appeared beside me when I opened the basement door, only to disappear as the door swung back.

I felt his foot firmly in my back and my equilibrium vanish as I pitched down the stairs. I barely had time to think that for once Barbara had it dead right. The woodchipper was a step too far.