Saturday, April 21, 2012

Memories

As I have often said, I think about my dad every single day.  I miss his presence in so many ways -- what he would think of different current events, books, movies, sports games, and so on.  I miss his sense of humor.  I miss his calm nature.  I definitely miss the possibility of asking his advice on so many different things, which is something I never took advantage of while he was alive.

I have a folder of letters he wrote me while I was in college so I can always return to his comments and insights into different things. I can see his handwriting in those letters or in the margins of the many books I inherited from him.  I can see his image in photographs.  I can see his movements in several videotapes of family events.  I can hear his voice in those videotapes or on a few cassette tapes of his lectures.

The most difficult thing is not hearing his comments on life as it is today.  Second to that is that I can't feel his physical presence through a chuckle, smile, or touch. Third, I can't smell his smell.  For awhile after his death, I could still get a hint of his scent through sweaters that I kept and stored. Those smells are long gone.

Last week, I was walking the dog around the neighborhood.  We encountered a neighbor who has a very friendly dog.  I will usually exchange greetings about the weather or our dogs.  On this day, the leashes became tangled up so we both reached down to separate them.  I was hit with this scent that reminded me so much of my dad that I almost jumped back.  It is so hard to describe a smell.  My dad had a pleasant smell so don't think I miss something disgusting.  It was a warm smell that reminds me of books, pipes (he hadn't smoked a pipe in years), and other things I just can't describe.  It stayed with me the rest of the walk.  Yet, it has conjured up memories that have lasted much longer.  I honestly don't know if I can get close again to this neighbor because I don't want to be disappointed that he isn't my dad but a stranger who just offered a hint of my dad at one random moment.

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