When Nancy and I bought the house we are in we bought a large mission-style oak table for the dining room. Rather than anything fancy we chose sturdy and practical because we knew it was going to be the centerpiece of our family’s activities.
The first time we sat around it I assigned seats, oldest to youngest across from one another; David to my left, Andy to my right, Eric next to David, Ali next to Andy, Sophie next to Eric, Alex next to Ali and Nancy at the end. Because it seats eight when AJ was born we had to place his chair at the corner next to Nancy.
At this table we have shared many meals. At this table we have celebrated birthdays, graduations, done homework, conducted business, entertained, made models, carved pumpkins and held our famous Christmas Eve ginger-bread house making contests. We have shared some of our biggest family moments here. There are perhaps hundred perhaps thousands of pictures that revolve around this table.
I have very fond memories of walking in to find David hunched over in his spot feverishly gluing together popsicle sticks or some crazy contraption out of fireworks. The table area in front of his seat is filled with dings and stains.
For the last few years it has been infrequent that we are able to get everyone together for dinner at the same time. Once a staple, the busy lives of a growing family make it impractical but special. So on Thursday when Eric arrived from Webster U. as I was preparing dinner I realized we had everyone home for the first time in a long time.
We cleared the table and I began to pile on food; meatloaf, creamed corn, mashed potatoes, fresh bread. The dining room was filled with the sort of family noise I welcome. In David’s chair sat AJ with his adorable head of curly hair. Once seated we said grace like we have for many years, holding hands. I just smiled as the kids practiced the well honed art of appearing to hold hands while minimizing the amount of actual contact.
After grace, food was passed and the inevitable banter between kids. Eric quickly had Alex near tears as he tortured him over passing the butter until Alex said “please sir may I have the butter!” The entire table erupted in laughter. For 45 minutes we laughed and talked loudly about current and past events. But in my head I kept seeing David to my left. Quietly laughing in the way he did, closing his eyes. “How’s the food David?” I’d ask. ”Good” he’d usually reply.
It was also at this same table that Nancy and I had our last meaningful conversation with David. Just before we left for Arizona we called him to the dining room where Nancy and I were seated. We told him that if anything happened to us he was in charge and that he had to make sure the kids were taken care of and that he was to raise AJ and Alex. He just smiled that big proud David smile and said “ok”.
David loved family meals and although nobody said anything, the tears through our laughter said it all. Our table just isn't the same anymore, it's out of balance and incomplete. Sometimes a person’s true presence is known only through their absence.
