An interesting thing happened tonight. I opened up my gmail and had somehow emailed myself a post from April 22. A post about my dad. I thought I had somehow reposted it. But I hadn’t. It was an odd and wonderful thing that happened.
Odd because how did it happen? I don’t remember even looking at that post after I published it. And beautiful because I read those words I had written anew. I saw their truth. I remembered my Dad’s blue eyes. His kind smile. His soft kisses on the cheek.
He was a good man. An exceptional father. He never wavered in his love for me no matter how much of a bitch I was to him. No matter how sad he was. He was strong. And giving. And funny. So funny. And he had a rich deep voice perfect for jokes and storytelling.
Dealing with death isn’t a linear process. It is meandering and sometimes abrupt and disarming. Sometimes filled with laughter and fond remembrances. Sometimes overwhelmingly painful to the point of gasping for air.
But like I read this post anew it’s important to remember loved ones the same way. To experience the love someone gave again as though it was happening in real time.
This is how people live on. We carry them everywhere we go. A memory. A flash of someone dancing to the music. Of someone’s dark hair and bright blue eyes. Of a hug or smell. A story. Or a first trip to the bank to open a savings account.
We are never truly alone if we keep the love alive.
