If you’re ready, your loved ones’ possessions may be soothing to have around. I’m glad I wasn’t quick to go through my father’s possessions or get rid of them. One of the first things I put up in my dining room was a clock. It’s beautiful. I loved seeing and hearing it in his condo in Florida. It opens on the hour, plays a delightful song, and Swarovski crystals twirl as lights flicker around it. For months I would cry when it chimed, but now I smile and even laugh. It was my father’s, so of course there is a story behind it.
My father was given this clock by the last love of his life. I’ll call her Rachel. My father loved her until the end. She is a class act. I still stay in touch with her. Rachel met my father when he was in his late seventies and she was in her late fifties. Yes. Let that soak in. She is a stunning petite woman and always dressed elegantly. She is hospitable, generous, and caring. She is educated, intelligent, and was career woman. The first time I met her I liked her. She airs confidence and power I appreciate in women. And why she chose my father is still an enigma. I don’t want to sound materialistic, but I would have loved it if they had married. Rachel had money. Her house was awesome. Her cars were awesome. Her dogs were awesome. Rachel planned my father’s 80th birthday party and it was spectacular; no, it was an event! She spared no expense. I still have every party favor.
My father and Rachel were on again, off again throughout their seven years together. It was my father’s fault. He was a womanizer and she was not going to put up with his shenanigans. In my father’s mind, he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. As a woman, I totally understood how Rachel felt. She was hurt. If I looked as sharp as she did and my boyfriend, twenty years my senior, flirted with anyone else, I would have left immediately and for good. She didn’t. She always took him back. And she taught him a few harsh but entertaining lessons along the way.
I don’t know if she’s a hothead or if my father just brought that out in her. I’m not exactly certain about the details, but on one of many times my father got on her last nerve, she demonstrated how things would go. She came into his condo, let him have it with a few words, and then said, “I need to break something.” She took the clock off of the wall and smashed it on the floor. Let that sink in. Picture a stunning petite woman in heels so angry with an old man she smashes an expensive clock that she paid for. My father told me he found glass and crystal shards for weeks. He deserved it.
So, how did I end up with the clock? Rachel took him back and bought him the same clock. That’s a heart of gold as well as glass and Swarovski crystals.
My father’s age caught up with him. They broke up a year before he died but we both pleaded with him to move in with me in Virginia.
Instead, my father moved in with another woman (a vile hag and wannabe gold digger) the last six weeks of his life. He wanted the clock and I said, “Oh! The one that Rachel gave you?” The hag said no because she was jealous of Rachel and my father was too weak to argue. I know it was an underhanded move but I would do it again. My father had seven wonderful years with Rachel and no one was going to take those memories away from me.
So, I got the clock. I also got a good story with it. I enjoy every time I hear it chime and play. Sometimes I try to get into the dining room before the hour just to look, listen, smile, and even chuckle a little. “Yeah, Pop. You were a handful. Rachel was a good woman for you.”
My healing journey continues. Join me as I listen to my soothing clock. It will make you smile and the story will make you giggle.
(Henry Alfred Rudolph. Born April 2, 1930. Died March 2, 2015.)
Column by Linda R. Jones
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