My Dad would have been 83 years old tomorrow. He died a little less than 10 years ago. He's been absent 23% of my life, and yet I miss him terribly. He was a huge part of my Sophie's life, and yet she's just 11 years old. How can that be? I think of her as a baby, and I see her in his arms. I think about how different certain things would be if he were still around. Would Sophie be able to talk? Would Hannah be happier...feel a little less abandoned by her idiot father with her Grandpa's arms wrapped around her? Would my Mom have it a little easier? Would holidays be a little more, well...more? I am sad.
I miss him...
when I drive north up Lima Center from Scio Church at night, the route he sometimes took home from work at midnight.
when I see an usher at church struggle slightly when rising from genuflecting.
when I pull into my Mom's driveway, I can still see him carrying an old coffee can full of chicken feed over to the hen house.
when I fix anything with duct tape or a paper clip!
stew, pancakes, rhubarb, or asparagus
when Hannah wears the red Gap sweatshirt I bought for him.
coffee and donuts after Sunday Mass
word searches and solitaire
the way he patted my hand
I can see him sitting at the kitchen table with his funny glasses at the end of his nose and his old ratty white undershirt and too small sweatpants and his crazy uncombed hair.
damn...I miss that old man.
