All it takes some days is a movie, a line in a song, a man sitting by himself at Starbucks doing a crossword puzzle, the deep sound of male laughter, something random, and his face comes into my view. Slowly fading in and slowly out, a series of still-life photographs, fuzzy around the edges. My Papa. It takes but a moment to break through several months of new normalcy, this flood of emotion sweeping toward me with memories of him, and with it the reminder, I really miss him.
His rumbling, chest-shaking laughter, usually at his own joke. His clear, steely blue eyes, dancing, crinkling at the corners and disappearing under eyelids for a moment. His arms, strongest at the forearm, from painting, always suntanned with soft blonde fuzz. How they wrapped around me like a blanket on a crisp fall evening, pulling me against his chest, always his little girl no matter how the years rolled by. I could count on him to be warm and cozy when I needed comfort.
We could sit for an hour, not uttering a word, perfectly content in each other's presence. He'd read his newest novel of the week. I'd be studying. Each of us interrupting the silence at moments to share a thought or idea from our book or from the week. He could do a NY Times crossword puzzle in five minutes flat. I could never finish one, not even close. But I felt so much smarter doing them with him. We'd bounce our dreams off each other, and I'd see the far-off twinkle in his eye, hungry for adventure, never too old for creative imagination, always the visionary with a plan. How I admired him. When he reached a dead-end, he'd find a way to climb through the wall. That was my dad.
Last night, it caught me by surprise, my delayed reaction after watching one of his favorites, Father of the bride. I could see him imitating Steve Martin again, see us planning for my older sister's wedding, inserting wisecracks from this movie along the way. I smile, relishing the memory, and then the taste of bitter and sweet sets in. When it's my turn someday to walk down that aisle, he won't be here.
it sounds like your relationship with your dad was close like mine. He died a couple months ago. He was 88 and had lost a LOT of his memory, but yet was kind and grateful and sweet in so many ways. I can't imagine losing him at the age you lost your dad. HUGE, HUGE. I loved "seeing" this picture of him.
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