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Published on 05/11/1998 All articles from this issue

The last parade with daddy

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By Kerri Havnen Gordon

The Living Experiment

Ella will have a story to tell one day, even if - at 2 1/2 years old at the time - she was too young to actually remember it. The story will become woven into the fabric of her life, and in some small way, it may bring her comfort.

She might begin telling it like this: "The day before my daddy died, he took me to a pet parade."

It had been a sunny morning a year ago, a perfect day for Los Altos' annual pet parade. My family set up camp along the curb and waited for several sets of friends to join us. Our friend, Raleigh, was at home recovering from an amniocentesis, but her husband, John, and their daughter, Ella, were coming.

As usual, John wore a big smile when he sighted our group. Ella bounced along happily behind him in the backpack; a little pink sun bonnet rested on her head. I was impressed that John remembered the hat. Many dads forget such necessary details.

"How's Raleigh feeling?" we asked, and John's smile grew even wider.

"She's fine. She's just a little tired." He paused, then said tantalizingly, "We know what the baby is."

"Already?" I was sure he would save the news for Raleigh to tell, but suddenly he blurted out, "It's a girl!" His eyes twinkled.

"Does Ella know?"

"Yeah, we told her last night."

John beamed. He looked over his shoulder and tried to catch his daughter's eye, a difficult task since her head was directly behind his. Ella cupped her hands around her daddy's ears, and I was struck by how adorable they were together.

John spent the parade focused on his daughter and pointing towards the street. As Ella stood in front of him, very straight and alert, John - with a protective hand around Ella's tummy - leaned toward her so that their faces were close together. I couldn't hear them, but I imagine John saying, "Look, Ella. There's a bunny in that little red wagon! See?"

Ella was fascinated by the animals - dogs, goats, miniature horses, iguanas, rabbits, a llama, guinea pigs, turtles, cats, birds, and snakes. When a marching band came along, John watched Ella for signs that the music was too loud for her little ears.

Suddenly the parade was over, and in the midst of hurried casual goodbyes, we gathered our blankets and snacks and children and bade each other nice weekends.

The next day was unbearably tragic. John, a vibrant, healthy, athletic 34-year-old man, died of a heart attack running San Francisco's Bay to Breakers race. In an instant Raleigh's and Ella's world was shattered by the loss of their beloved husband and father.

Little Johanna, named for her dad soon after his death, was born the following November. She will know her daddy only through pictures and stories shared by all the people who loved John.

I dearly hope that Ella remembers him. Eight months after John's death, Ella pointed to snow in a book I was reading to her. "My daddy took me to the snow," she said proudly, recalling a family vacation they had taken to Yosemite. How wonderful that Ella remembered it; at the same time, it broke my heart.

Maybe there will always be something about the snow that is comforting to Ella, and just maybe, when she goes to parades, she will remember her daddy taking her to one and lovingly explaining to her all the things that passed by on the street.

For the past year, Raleigh has shown admirable grace in dealing with her loss. Kerri Havnen Gordon writes a monthly colum for the Town Crier. E-mail: Havnentoo@aol.com