father

Thoughts of my father come in waves.... He is never far from my mind but sometimes he infiltrates my thoughts more than others. Tonight is one of those nights where I can't help but ruminate on him, on the presence he had and still has in my life, on the lessons he taught me, the frustrations he left behind for our family but mostly how much I miss him.

The body's sense of smell is one of the greatest links to memories, and this is so true to my father. Since as long as I can remember, my father smoked cigarettes and it was one of our biggest fears that we would see my father die a long and labored death from lung cancer or emphysema. Regardless, though, smoking was part of what made my father who he was and I can remember kissing him goodnight and smelling the remnants of smoke on his skin and somehow it was comforting... It was him; it was who he was and I didn't judge him for it. I miss that smell. I miss the feel of the bristle on his cheeks and the gruffness in his voice when he would say 'g'night, punkin'. I looked up to him in so many ways...and I miss him in many more.

The musty scent of oil mingled with sawdust makes me think of watching my father in his element in the confines of his shed, working on his own projects or something related to his work and just being in awe of this man who was so skilled, so determined, so passionate. He loved to tinker - on engines, on motors, on anything that required the skill of a mechanic to interpret design and translate it into a working thing. Looking back now, I realize much of what he did was out of desperation and need to provide for his family and I wonder what worries, fears and thoughts permeated these moments of joyful genius.

His presence... My father could command a room. He carried himself with such confidence, it was tangible. I was proud of my father. I was proud of his strength, his intelligence, his humor, his ability to be completely unphased by anything. He was joyful, pensive, thought-provoking, and above all loving in his own quiet, self-less way.

I think about that last day... that last morning that I ever saw him alive and there are so many things I would've done differently. It was October and I had asked him to take the air conditioner out of my bedroom window since it was starting to get cold and in my rush to get to work, I ran up to retrieve something from my room and didn't say goodbye.... Had I know what that day would bring, I would've hugged him until I had to be pried away and I would've told him how much I love him and what an important and irreplaceable spot he had in my life. I made him breakfast and sometimes I wonder if I had made something different, if I hadn't made anything at all, maybe he'd still be here. It is unnecessary guilt that likely comes with a death so sudden where there are no real answers. And yet, I can't help but wonder.