Silver Linings: Dad’s Dead But Now He’s Not a Jerk

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My dad has been on my mind lately. He loved this song. Or, this was his favorite weather. Worse, dad would have laughed so hard at that one. It goes on, as you can imagine. Happy memories all. I have to reach, now, to grab the things that bothered me. The days when he vehemently disagreed with my political lean and railed about the president are gone. I’d like to think that he wouldn’t have cared for this particular president either. I’ve recast him as an equal opportunity critic. His racist and sexist jokes would have been particularly tone deaf these days (not that they were ever acceptable). I’ve rewritten his jokes to tell me more about the men he worked with, the soldiers, fellow mechanics, and snow plow drivers. His blue collar, boot-strap life didn’t understand the rarefied air of diplomacy or academia.

I rub like smooth rocks all the things I learned in his final year, months, days. I learned that he was soft inside. As gentle as his hands were rough. I’ve thought about the jellybeans he munched the final week. My efforts to find a favorite candy bar. The conversation the nurse and I had about getting him out to smoke one last time. It took me several precious days to figure out that was what he was waiting for. For my brother-in-law, the rough and rugged one whose insides reflect my dad’s outside, to bring him those special small cigars. By the time I solved the puzzle, he couldn’t have gotten into the wheelchair.

But that’s not what I’m thinking about when my breath hitches on the way to work. Or as I sit here typing, crying, for the first time in awhile. I’m thinking about how he chuckled when he found a fun new Halloween toy and the time he spent rigging a loudspeaker and mic to frighten 1980s trick-or-treaters. I’m thinking about eating pie with him in the back bedroom a couple of Thanksgivings ago, how he happily twitched his feet like his father, savored his pie like his mother, and hid from guests like his daughter. I’m thinking about how he would have tsked at the leaves for not changing on schedule and how he’d deeply enjoy the extra time watching the game instead of raking.

So yes, I’m crying. I wish I wasn’t. But I’m happy because all the sour, sticky, smudged parts of him have been buffed shiny and clean. I miss him terribly but I’ll take what I can get.

2 Responses

  1. I love it so much when you write. It’s a little peek inside of your brain. It makes me feel like I know a little bit more about you.
    Your words always have an impact and I appreciate them all.
    Nothing else. Just sending you tons of ghost hugs.

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