I claimed that I was my father’s favorite. How could it not be? I was born on Father’s Day and many years my birthday coincided with that holiday. Of course, I was his favorite (at least on my birthday)!
The smell of sawdust meant that Dad was busy in the workshop. Working on the house. Crafting. So many items. Jewelry boxes for all of us. A grandfather clock.
On holidays we would take pictures of Dad and the boys. Typically the hall closet would be in the background. Opposite the big picture window. A view of everyone growing. A view of everyone aging. Pictures that over time became Grandpa and the boys.
The smell of popcorn meant that it was Sunday. Sunday supper often included popcorn. Popcorn eaten by the handful. Unsalted popped popcorn in a bowl with sugar and milk as a cereal supper. A big Tupperware container of popcorn that would be the snack for the next few days.
The silence. The silence of disappointment. Waiting for “the talk” after less than appropriate behavior. The hangdog feeling that when I was on the edge of disapproval.
On February 9th, today, I am remembering Dad on his heavenly 92nd birthday. On 2/9 and his 92nd. A very short palindrome.
This morning. Sitting with my computer and remembering. My smiles and laughter as I remember Dad! Thinking of how I will honor him today, tomorrow, and all my days.
And yet, still missing him. The sights, the sounds, the smells that remind me of Dad. The memories. I remember.
What triggers memories, near and far in time? What events remind you of family members who no longer have an earthly presence? How are you creating memories that will linger after you?
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