i'm tired. it's late, and the day is over. i made it through, but i'm tired. walking up the stairs from the basement, i let slip the armor i have been wearing all day, strong and rigid, like i'm braced and waiting for a slap. as each metaphorical piece fell, it made in imaginary clang, until i had exposed the fragile, fleshy parts it had been protecting. the armor came complete with smile-to-the-eyes (more believable that way), and a convincing laugh. the armor carried the smell of an old medical bag, the feeling of a sweater five sizes too big, and sound of an old rolling stones song.
not surprisingly, he is still gone. not surprisingly, only two people remembered and gave me warm verbal arms to add to the chainmail i was wearing. it helped. i shall collect the hugs in person, once i get the chance.
16 years, to the day. here are some snapshots:
...sitting in dad's lap at age 4 watching a track meet on television. he grabbed my feet and turned me into the world's giggliest marionette as he moved my feet in time with the miniaturized runners on the t.v. sound effects were, of course, in abundance.
...flipping furiously through his monthly surgical journals in a competition to see who could find the grossest picture.
...at his 25th college reunion, i twisted and churned at the IMPOSSIBLE age of 14, while some random kid "was , like, just taaaaaaallllllllking to me!!! (WHIIIIINNNNNNE)". dad leaned drunkenly against a stop sign (almost missing it completely) and failing MISERABLY at sound menacing, asked if, "this young man {was} bothering {me}."
...dad striding quickly through the mall to return a christmas gift i was too old for, but too embarrassed to return for myself as i melted behind him, PRAYING that nobody would see me.
...dad handing me an ice cream cone, and since i am the least graceful girl in the world, both of us grasping to keep it from dropping...crushing the cone in the process. because he always fixed everything, he simply got another empty cone, and dropped the bruised one in. you know what? it tasted just as good.
...dad driving his beautiful, brand new sports car to pick me up from a failed cheerleader tryout. he KNEW i hadn't made it AGAIN, but also knew that practice at failure doesn't make it hurt any less, and he wanted me to "feel cool".
...dad clipping and mailing me an article about the band nirvana, because before i hit puberty, our musical tastes had been identical...and he wanted to hold on to that just a little longer.
...watching old episodes of "the monkees" and catching dad catching a glimpse of ME enjoying something from HIS past. he realized that "the effort to relate" was not going to have to be one-sided, and i think he was relieved.
...his deft and expert hands as he pulled the broken ends of my clavicle into position so they could start repairing immediately. what stopped my wailing was not the ending of the pain but, rather, the confident and matter-of-fact voice in which he told me "everything is going to be okay". it remains my most favorite phrase to hear.
so these are the things i STILL carry in the faded leather satchel i call my memory. these things can never be replaced, and they will never be forgotten because they are what made him mine and ONLY mine.
the last thing to put into the bag before i jump on it, and close it for another year:
...looking into the mirror every day just to be sure that the nose i inherited from him (which i used to curse) hasn't changed an inch. i hope to see the same features on my own children's faces someday.
for obvious reasons, today's word of the day is epiphora.
i miss you. i miss you. i miss you.
Wow ... I am so moved! Patricia, you are such an author! Your writing is so beautiful as I could feel every bit of what you wrote. And your dad, I wish I had a chance to meet him in person. Now I know what you meant when you said "I understand."
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