Today my dad would have been 91. I’d say it feels like just yesterday that he died but that’s inaccurate. Unfortunately it feels like a while, the “just yesterday” phenomena passing over at some point in the last three and a half years. I have nothing clever or anecdotal about it today. It just is. Life, it appears, does go on. 

I’ll try and take time between the foolishness of the daily grind to remember some good things. The joy he’d have when I’d pop into his office to say hello. A visit which may only encompass a few short minutes but one that would leave a palpable happiness in the air. His pride in introducing me to his staff each time. I look at it now as a shame I always felt I had to introduce myself to them, my visits so spread that they forget who I was between them. 

I’ll remember our talks in the two chairs on the porch at Erieau. Sometimes talking. Sometimes, just sitting. Soaking up each other’s presence, no words needed. 

I’ll remember his impatience to move on to the next thing, a return to his home and surroundings always a “Let’s Go!” away. A trait I seem to have inherited. I’m not sure where we are going, we just aren’t sitting here doing nothing when we can get moving and go somewhere else to sit and do nothing. 

I spoke with a friend yesterday about the people of our city who are hurting. He referenced a conversation with his dad he recently had and how our fathers generation had stresses we couldn’t fathom. War. The Great Depression. Poverty. Our fathers were expected to absorb it in silence, it’s just how it was. I wondered aloud if we were just feeding all of the pain and unease. The loneliness people are feeling today. I can’t say I can imagine my dad articulating any of that. Maybe he ignored it. Maybe. Maybe he accepted it as just the way it is. I can think of a lot worse lessens than acceptance. 

I know that my mom and I miss him dearly and if nothing else, on days like this I’m reminded how time and  the world are like a giant glob of ectoplasm. A person dies and the goo rushes in to fill and erase the place where the life was. Moving forward, slowly trying to erase the impact of a life lived. It troubles me and fills me with a sense of “what does it all even mean?” sometimes followed by a smattering  of “none of this shit matters”.  The “shit” being the things we do instead of the time we can spend. I know this is overly dramatic and try to not feed it but it’s what I think. When I stop, I wonder if my dad ever these things. I’m doubtful. 

So today (well yesterday), I spent a few moments just missing my dad. Wondering how he would have reacted to things like pandemics (likely with alarming pragmatism), his granddaughter’s eminent high school graduation,  the concept of “mental health” and generational coping, and riding around on this space rock for another year. 

I have a recorded message on my phone from my dad. A hidden joy that the technology of today inadvertently gave me. I give it a listen from time to time. In it, my dad’s voice echoes a bit of optimism yet a surety of the seriousness of his situation. I’ll give it a listen today, lucky to have it, at the same time regretful of not recording more. So caught up with my world I forgot to. This stings and likely will always cough up a dose of regret. 

Today. On the second day of what would be my dads 92nd year, I’m really just left missing him. So I’ll shed some tears. Try and smile and remember to take the time. 

I miss you dad. 

I miss you. 

#hugsandhi5s