Dear Dad,
Amazing. Days like today tug at my sleeve optimistically and ask, "what if?" Such a fantastic verbal duo. What if? It renders boundaries useless as though we are dogs just discovering that the old "invisible fence" doesn't really hold us in. Two words that make no bold statements and claim nothing. In fact, that two-word question makes all things possible, if only in our minds and if only for a second...but, oh, what a beautiful second that is. You were everywhere today. Everywhere.
I have recently come to understand fully what the word "punishing" means. The weather, both in California and in Ohio has been hot. Really hot. Apocalyptically hot. It has been the kind of hot that makes us feel like we must have done something wrong to deserve this misery. It has been punishing. Today was a break in the heat. In fact, the combination of blue sky, delicious wind, and 50s and 60s in the mercury made for the magic carpet that transported me back to that first car ride to Gambier as you and Mom sent me off to college in the Fall. I still remember feeling excited and nervous and very, very happy that you were there to make the excitement bigger than the nerves. It is such a vivid memory that listening to my students talk about getting ready for college sounds more familiar than anything else.
Because I'm heading back to California in two days, Mom and I spent our usual evening talking about the past. She is an excellent resource, and somehow always manages to find stories I've never hear. I love listening to her, and sleepiness at 2:30 in the morning is the only way I can "get tired" of hearing her stories. I look forward to more tomorrow afternoon. We are going to do some wedding planning. I 'm excited about that, but, like most things bittersweet, the excitement also serves to underscore the fact that you are not here...not really. Who is going to dance with me at my wedding?
Right before I surrendered to Hypnos and the Oneiroi, I caught a bit of "Night of the Living Dead" (the 1968 version, not the remake. Bleah.) and watched just a little. My love of zombie movies/paralyzing and pants-wetting fear of zombies themselves stems from our time together, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sharing a bowl of way-too-salty popcorn, and watching with horrified delight. "They're coming to get you, BAHbuhra. Look! There's one of them now!" I try not to feel cheated when I think of all the zombie movies that have come out since... We could have gone to them together. My students think this love/hate of the undead is funny, and it has made for some clever (and much appreciated) gifts.
The sky is pinking up soon. My eyes are heavy. The wind pushing past the curtains is a trap. Sleep is coming. Before it gets here, I'll tell you a secret. I'll whisper it so only you can hear it.
(I can't go to sleep until I say teeny-tiny prayers. I don't think I am terribly religious, but I pray every night because I refuse to believe that death is the end, that you are really gone, and that I'll never see you again. Is that the wrong reason to do it? I don't care.)
Goodnight, Dad.
