Little things that catch a person unaware

When I was a very small girl, my dad worked for Hess Oil.  Now, I am not sure how national the company has gone by now, but here in the Northeast Hess has lots of gas stations, with a green and white logo which has not changed in my lifetime.  When my dad worked there, it was still a small company.  Dad claimed that, at that time, Leon Hess was still opening all the mail.  Anyway, the company grew and grew, and Leon Hess bought a pro football team (the New York Jets) and various other things, and became a famous rich person. 

But my dad didn't stay there that long.  He had a good position--manager of trucking operations--but he wanted to do something on his own.  Enterprising guy that he was, he and a partner left Hess (I think I was about seven), to start a tank cleaning business.  My dad owned other businesses over the years, mostly in the maintenance end of the oil industry (you know all those refineries and ginormous tanks you see along the Jersey Turnpike?  They have to be cleaned out!  Frequently!).  Although he never got to the level of owning football players, he was pretty successful, and those tank cleaning trucks paid for a lot of the nice things in my life. 

Back to Hess.  It has been a tradition, for many many years, that every holiday season the company sells a toy truck, in a different (some fairly far-out) design.  A nice line extension for the brand, a passion for collectors, and a cool Christmas present for my son. 

ANYWAY.

I went food shopping yesterday afternoon, 'cause we were out of practically everything.  I felt fine.  On the way home, a radio commercial came on for this year's Hess truck.  Falsetto voices singing, "It's Christmas this year....the Hess truck's here!"

I lost it.   

Tell me this is the kind of thing that happens. 

Comments

[AngelNicki]

Some people would say that it was your dad sending you a message from Heaven to let you know he is doing well!
What do you think?

[Clover]

Yes, this is normal! Being fine for a while and then something supposedly little hitting you like a ton of bricks is common.

Grief isn't the same for everyone, anyway; if you find that you cope best when knitting fuzzy green-and-purple doilies, well, keep on doing it. ^_^

I'm sure you've heard WAY too many supposedly well-meaning lines lately, so I'll just say your fan club here's rooting for ya.

[Margaret]

That seems perfectly normal. Hugs still headed your way.

[Melissa in TN]

That is the way it happens. When my dad died something would "trigger" the grief and it would sort of wash over me like waves. That seems like the most accurate way to describe it. I think the only thing that can make it better is time.

I am thinking of you and your family.

[Cathy]

I wish you could feel a little less pain for having the courage to share your grief. The big and little things will always be there. You'll just react to them differently over time.

[Brighton]

Oh sweetie, I am so sorry! Grief can do that, it hits in waves. Hugs girl.

[Susanne]

It does happen to others, and it's not the stuff you expect it to be like the Father's Day display at Hallmark - it's the little stuff like the commercial that bring back a flood of memories. My dad passed almost six years ago and it's still little stuff that no one else would notice that remind me of him.

[Lorraine]

um, I am still trying to overcome my shock--are the Jets' colors green and white because of Hess, or vice versa?! I never made the connection before today.

[Lorraine]

and I am sorry about your dad. a friend of mine lost her brother a few years ago, and about a month after he died, she was driving down the road with her sons and suddenly jerked the wheel--her son was like, "what's wrong, mom?" and she said, "I just realized that my brother died." Now, her sons gave her some strange looks, but of course she "knew" he was gone--but somehow in that moment, it hit her in a new way.

wishing you peace in your mourning.

[Vanessa]

That's exactly how it happens. My husband died almost a year and a half ago, and at least a couple of times a week, something will remind me of him and it'll hit me all over again that he's gone. Painful as these moments are, there's also something reassuring about them, because they confirm that I'll never forget him, just as you'll never forget your dad.

*hugs* to you and your family.