Letter to my dad

In my dreams, you are just fine. You made it. I look with huge relief at you sitting at the table doing a puzzle, weeding the backyard of dandelions, and you haven't changed a bit. I hear your constant and happy whistle drifting down the hallway. I don't know how you were given a second chance and I don't know why. All I know is that I won't question it, won't give it a second thought. All that matters is that you are well, thriving, able to continue what you want to do, all that you have worked so hard all your life to enjoy, to share in all the deserved memories that are your right. But this dream is like a deceitful lover who makes you believe that nothing is wrong, the false sense of normalcy that lingers like heady perfume, masking the truth and covering up the stench of reality.

Inevitably, just like the cancer that took your life, insistent fingers of the cold truth slither and spread among the relief and gratefulness of that dreamy moment and with full awakening, the heart hardens like a tender flower now trapped under ice. I mourn the fact each morning that you cannot see the beautiful sunrise and breathe in the new day.

You are everywhere, in every moment. A smell from a long-ago kitchen in the middle of winter, tomatoes and garlic; a fire crackling in the fireplace in the family living room, keeping the cold winds away; the taste of fresh peas from your garden, your pride and joy; the smell of grass clippings on a sweltering summer day where the air is hot and heavy and lazy.

Time is molasses-thick and holds infinite echos. It's is also supposed to make things easier, make the pain of losing you less, but considering how quickly time took you, it has been excruciatingly slow to make amends.

Our family has a link missing, a chain broken, a vital piece no longer there. It's a ship that still valiantly tries to keep going, in spite of it no longer having a captain or a rudder. It's like a choir, but no longer in harmony, still singing a melody, but with no conductor, no sheet music, discordant and out of tune.

This day is hard, probably always will be. Time heals all, it'll get easier, remember the good times - comforting, to be sure, but still so painfully elusive, like trying to chase your shadow in the dark.

Love you Dad