One of the hardest things in losing dad, is trying not to let my heart drift to all of the moments I’ll never have with him. To not let the anger creep up and lodge in my chest when I see other fathers and daughters creating memories. To feel full of gratitude for the time and relationship I had, instead of empty for what I won’t. But it’s really hard. Incredibly hard.
Lately however, I’ve been experiencing my father in new ways. I see him when I look in the mirror. The curves of my round face, his nose – the funny birth mark we share just below the left lash line. I feel him when I smile and a dimple folds into my cheek – not nearly as pronounced as his, but still framing my smile when something is really funny.
I am him when I drive. Oh lord, my impatience for getting somewhere as quickly as possible when I’m weaving through traffic. I am him when I ski, when I drop my hips like he used to, digging the edge of my skis into a pillow of fresh snow. I am him when I tease or am being silly with a total sense of abandon like he used to. In so many wonderful ways, I am him. And in that way, he has been here all along.
If I get married, he won’t be there to see me in my wedding dress, but I can remember his face for every school dance when it would light up with hesitant pride – watching his little girl growing into a woman. He won’t be there to twirl me on the dance floor, but a few months into his treatment we danced at a wedding with my hand in his, and we spun dizzy circles and laughed trying to keep up with one another. If I have children, he won’t meet them, but they’ll know him in the way I play with them, teach them to ski and give into the silly. I will cup their small hands against the curves of my round face, his face, and they will know their grandfather.
A REKD GIRL 