Three years. That almost sounds like a sick joke. How the hell has three years gone by without you? I can't even remember who I was before losing you. I know who I am because of you, though.
You helped form me into a passionate learner; a fiery independent woman who gets sh*t done. I've learned how to take care of myself and am pretty proud of who I've become. I started my career as you were dying in the hospital. I had not one single clue what I was doing. Still don't, some days.
I remember the day you died too well. Sometimes I get angry that my memory resurfaces that day instead of the 22 years of life I had with you. It's not something I can control. But each day brings a glimmer of you. Some, even, bright rays of sunshine.
Sometimes it's when I'm driving to work, daily passing the funeral home we had your service at. Other days it's a powerful punch to the gut remembering just how hard your last months of life were, how hard you fought, and how painful it was seeing the man I saw only as strong suffer so intensely.
Most of my memories though, are of the countless ways you've helped make me into who I am. Your sharp, gifted mind is something I long to pick over current events and American History, now that I actually crave to learn about it. I get this swell of pride when I take care of stuff like buying new tires, signing retirement account documents, and getting the best value on things at the store.
In the fresh wind hitting my face as I drive, I picture you on your bike, coasting through Vickridge. In the smell of a package of microwaved frozen peas, I taste your baked chicken thighs that were a staple growing up. When I learn something new, I think about how much you held inside your brain. When I finish a book, I soak up memories of debriefing over Harry Potter late at night, devouring the books as soon as you finished. When I feel tired or worn, I think about how much you lived through with dignity and grit. The taste of green bell peppers reminds me of pre-dinner snacks and chats in the living room bay window with T. Marzetti's ranch dip. You'd be proud to know I love me a good Gin and Tonic. On my days off, I'm reminded of how well you got things accomplished as I run needed errands, frazzled by the constant to-do list. Every. single. time. I open a new tube of toothpaste your face illuminates in my mind, reminding me of the extra stock we always had and the hum of your electric toothbrush after every meal. As I fight to understand that state of our world, I feel both sorrow and hope for the future. You taught me to learn about the past to impact the future.
The list of memories and flashbacks are endless, and mostly ones I keep as treasure for my own heart and mind. I long for a tight hug against your scratchy face. Three years feels like a breath being sucked in all too quickly, all the while feeling like it's all I have ever known.
For all I've learned, encountered, battled through, processed, and hoped for over the last three years, I know there are years to come of even more. More life, more hardships, more depth, more community, more growth. Your imprint on my life permeates through everything. To you, Dad.
