Thursday, June 14, 2012

Breathing

How can it be that, 2 years and 8 months after losing Dad, missing him can sometimes still take my breath away? When he passed, others who'd also lost a parent told me this would be the case...that as time went on, the pain would consistently change. That the sharpness would decrease...never go away, but become more dull and not as persistent. That there would be times when missing him would grip me quite unexpectedly. They were right. It's odd. There is no pattern. Missing him sometimes hits at times you'd expect - anniversaries, birthdays, when I revisit or recall our experiences together. But it also sometimes hits me when I'm experiencing great joy in the life I've continued to build in his absence...suddenly, I realize he's not here to share that, or for me to report it to. And I stop breathing momentarily for wanting his physical presence in my life. To hear his laughter. See his belly shaking when he's sharing some crazy story with Pete and his other cronies at Rhino's. Stand behind his big easy chair, and rub my hand over his crew cut when I tell him goodbye as I end one of my visits. Even see his eyes rolling yet again as I spew out some liberal opinion that disgusts his Fox-News-conservative-sensibilities. Especially in those moments of joy when the missing him hits me, I want so badly for him to know that I'm fully aware that I wouldn't have the joy I have in my life were it not for the life he, and Mom, helped give me. Even in the midst of these continuing moments of pain, I feel him with me, and his influence on everything I do. Everything I am. I still want to make him proud, and sometimes I ache beyond belief to know if he is... I do know that I'm proud of him. Of the rich and full life he lived, and of how he always sought improvement. To be a better husband. A better friend. A better father. A better supervisor. A better man. And I'm proud of how he's instilled that same desire in me. To always seek to be better. It gives my life amazing richness. In spite of the moments I find it difficult to breathe for missing him.