You may think that time works to eventually reveal a mended wound, like a band aid slowly removed. But truth be told, the emptiness never really goes away. Time just covers the hole with new thoughts and memories, when underneath the patch, a void remains like a punched wall repaired with putty. The heart becomes a piece of punctured drywall. Its structural integrity is compromised by a blow so forceful it brings hollowness.
Most days I try to forget by allowing time to work its redundant splendor; the numbness is relief to his memory. Still, some days I can feel his presence urging me to remember his throaty laugh, his contagious smile, his broken-handled comb, his out-dated haircut, his tool belt, his handstand push-ups, his New Balance running shoes...Things that were long ago sorted-through, thrown-out or kept in our minds or in our closets. These times bring tears, but in them I find the beauty of feeling. I find the juxtaposition of memory and pain.
In my life, time presents a ruthless dichotomy. Some days I beg for its ability to obscure memory, like the eventual degradation of a photograph. Other days I courageously fight against time to preserve my ability to recall his face, his voice, his strength.
But at the end of each day, regardless of time as friend or foe, I lie in bed and miss him.
No words.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. Thank you for reminding me about the broken handled comb- I had forgotten! I bet if the 5 of us all got together we could piece all of memories together and bring him back, even if it's just in memory. Dad had a million things to fear in that year he was sick, and the only fear he had was that we would forget him. He must be so happy to see that he had nothing to worry about! xoxox
ReplyDeleteThank you.
ReplyDeletei'm having to wipe tears from my eyes steph.. thank you for sharing a little piece of your dad with me... you are a brillant writer and person, for which i am sure he is so very proud!
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