This Father’s Day, I’ll be spending the day at my dad’s gravesite.
It’ll be two years this August since my father passed away. I thought the wounds would heal by now. But they haven’t. Instead, it feels like the scar tissue is healing all wrong.
The first year was a blur. Days dissolving into one another, melting like the clock in one of my father’s favorite Dali paintings. Days spent focused on checking off items on a to-do list. Months spent trying to carve out some sort of a routine in a half-empty house.
Time heals all wounds; you hear that all the time. But I don’t think that’s true. Time tears off the Band-Aid, little by little, instead of ripping it off in one fell swoop. As the days, weeks, months and years go by, you just get caught up in routine.
Time doesn’t heal. You just stop seeing that person in your everyday. The image of your father walking through the door, in his purplish scrubs, holding his lunch box, smiling with his whole face like he always did—tired but happy to be home, starts to fade.
The image of him sitting at the dinner table, praising your mom’s cooking, over time, evaporates. You no longer hear him recounting how your annoying brother, Charlie, sleeps on his head and purrs non-stop, waking him up throughout the night. You no longer smell his cologne permeating the house — a strong smell, too, since his faulty sinuses blunted his sense of smell. You no longer remember the sound of his laugh or his voice. You try hard to concentrate, to quiet your thoughts so you can hear it, but it’s gone. You no longer shop for him. You no longer get home and show off what you bought that day shopping with your mom, while he actually pays attention and even comments — all the while you know that most men couldn’t care less. You no longer watch him spring from the couch watching his all-time favorite team Manchester United. You no longer listen to him talk breathlessly about how they did that day or his dream trip to catch a game in England.
These images once at the forefront of your mind become distant signs that you pass on a carless road, miles and miles away, forgotten figments of a trip long ago.
Before posting, please read our blog moderation guidelines. The comments below begin with the oldest comments first. Click on the last comments page to jump to the most recent comments.
Before posting, please read our blog moderation guidelines.Post a Comment: