Still in the Dead Dad Club

Tomorrow, it will be three years since I joined the Dead Dad Club. I found the post that I wrote a few days after he died and I'm amazed at my ability to think clearly enough to at least try to express my thoughts and feelings in words. The day he died and the ones that followed are all a blur to me now. I was in pain and I relied heavily on friends to continue breathing in and out after my dad stopped.

Reading that post made me think about where I am today with dealing with his death. Well, he's still dead and, to paraphrase George O'Malley, I still have trouble "existing in a world where he doesn't."  My dad and I only saw each other a couple times a year and spoke on the phone every couple of weeks, but I always knew he was there. And now he's not.

But then again, he sort of is.

He's there every time I make coffee and pour the first, very strong cup. I hear his voice saying, "That coffee will set you free!" and laughing like he was saying this "hysterical" line for the very first time and not the five hundredth.

He's there when I wear the hiking boots he left at my house the winter before he died. He told me not to bother shipping them back to him since he had no need for winter boots in Florida. He said that he would use them the following winter when he came for a visit. There never was another visit so I wear the boots with an extra pair of socks and feel like he's walking with me.

He's there when I hear sound bites from the Republican presidential primary candidates. I hear him dismissing them with a bunch of swears preceding "conservative crackpots." 

He's there when I hear Simon and Garfunkel or Jim Croce...or see a springer spaniel...or read a good deal on Craiglist...or breathe.

I miss you, Dad.