Me and Dad, 1983
In an almost exact replay of last week, I am having All The Feelings this morning. Well, technically “afternoon” – this morning was spent trying to fix the not-especially-minor email-returning issue I mentioned last week and my first cup of coffee has yet to be ingested, which is a problem that seriously needs to be rectified immediately.
Hold on.
OK I’m back.
So here’s what’s going on: My parents were here all weekend, and whenever they leave (as they did this morning) I feel a little off, a little lonely, a little no, wait, come back. This time, though, what’s on my mind is a single moment that took place last night, and that meant so much to me that it is actually hard to talk (or write) about it; my throat keeps closing up whenever I try. But I’ll try anyway.
I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Kendrick and Indy were in our bedroom playing with Star Wars toys, and my dad and Goldie were sitting on the couch with a book she’d picked out from the library especially so he’d read it to her (this one). They have this beautiful, special relationship; she just gets him somehow; gets his jokes, gives them right back to him. They make each other light up, and I get the sense that through their relationship they’ve brought everyone else in my family closer, too.
I heard my dad start to read, and so I put down the dishes and crept over to the entryway, where I could sit with my back against the wall, listening without them seeing me. It wasn’t any grand and dramatic moment – just a grandpa reading to his granddaughter – but all of a sudden, listening to him tease her and make funny voices and hearing her giggle and say “Papa funny!”…suddenly I remembered something I’d forgotten decades ago: the feeling of resting my head on my dad’s chest while he taught me things and made me laugh, and how much I loved him and wanted to be with him always. Of course I love my dad, and of course I love being with him still…but this was pure sense memory: suddenly I felt like it was me laying on the couch being read to.
In some ways, having this memory back feels like having my dad back. Because what it gave me was the chance to go – even if just for a few seconds – back into a time before everything got so damn complicated, when there was nothing in the world I’d rather do than lay with my ear pressed against my father’s chest, listening to his heartbeat while he showed me the letter “A” and told me which color was green.
