Today,
January 10, was my father's birthday. He would've been 88 years old. February
14 is the third anniversary of his death. The passing of Janet's father on
December 1 reopened the wound. My brother is taking my mom to the mausoleum to
visit my dad. I asked him tell my dad that I loved him and missed him even
though I feel silly asking him to speak to a brass plaque on a wall on my
behalf. He says it's not silly although I honestly disagree but am having him
do it at my request anyway.
I think
about him All the time and sometimes feel like he is here with me. I mean
literally… I sometimes smell him. There are certain scents I associate with him
from my childhood. I sometimes get an occasional whiff of cigarette smoke
although we are a non-smoking house. When he smoked he used a menthol inhaler I don't think kind of thing which I
smell once in a while although no one here is using that time of product. There
is the occasional eue de Brill Cream although we don't use 1950s hair products
or any hair goo for that matter.
I dream
about him and fantasize about being with him. I don't know if everyone's
memories work like this but I have little snapshots of him and little 30 second
long movies that my brain keeps replaying. One of the pictures is of him on the
beach in Ocean City leaning against the lifeguard stand with a cigarette at a
jaunty angle between his lips. The most frequent film clip is from my
perspective sitting on his shoulders and we are walking out into the ocean. I
can feel his skin and muscles under my legs, his slightly greasy hair between
my fingers and the cold drops of water hitting my legs. That one started
playing in my head the moment I learned that he was dying and happens at least
every other day that I'm aware of. Other less frequent film shorts starring me
and my father include, playing Skee-- Ball, raking leaves and picking out the
family dog from a litter of squirming puppies. Keep in mind that our family
never had a home movie projector in those days; we were strictly a slide
projector family. So this is all literally in my head. I hope this is how
memories work; kind of a free movie theater in your brain that plays selected
shorts.
I just got a
call from my mother, they're back from visiting my dad. I have to believe he
knows how much I love and miss him in spite of the fact that I have not visited
since the funeral. Although I don't visit physically, I think I am the most
frequent visitor in my heart and mind.
