Songs We Couldn't Sing Together--For My Father

“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” ― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

Today you were in everything; the sunlight over green grass, the shadows on the sidewalks behind me, the songs we once sang and the people we loved together. You were in the happpiness we all were feeling, you were in our childrens laughter, you, were everywhere. I almost felt guilty for my happiness because I looked around and there was every father there except for you--the moment felt empty enough for me to continue scanning the area. I look for you all the time even though my heart knows I won't ever find you. I still try. I still love you--the way a daughter should love her father despite anything you've ever done. I am closer to forgiveness now than I have ever been before. I know that is because of you. You're teaching me things--all the lessons are coming back to me and with them are the beautiful memories I have since forgotten. I forgot how beautiful our relationship once was. Lately, I am hearing our laughter. I find myself shutting my eyes just to see our car rides to the country, our fishing trips, my school plays, the breakfast potatos we found a penny in, you hugging me with a squeeze so tight, our Miami Dolphins habit, our trip to New York together where you said mom and I were your moutains of strength. I can still smell the newspaper you used to read every morning that mixed with the scent of decaf coffee from Turkey Hill. I am not ready for you to leave yet, there are still things I want you to see, things we must do together. I don't want to get married without you. I don't want to graduate with my master's and look to a crowd of people that has every face but yours. I don't want to have a son or daughter without talking to you first. This is really the only way for me to get through all of these special life happenings without you. Half of the pain has subsided but each day I watch the living you fade into nothing and this is a nothingness I can't explain. Death is not as final as I had thought--it is just silent. It is invisible. It is every feeling you've ever had bunched up into one. It is your fears colliding, subsiding and then dividing just to make sense. It is real with a touch of fiction and you'll write the fiction just to get by. It is difficult but easy all at the same time. It is beautiful yet too ugly to touch. It agree's to disagree. But the one thing death can never do--is erase the thousands of unforgettable memories that partially created you and your life with that person.