Not long before he died when he was in hospital (I'm not sure if it was that time or had been the few years before when he was unwell), but I visited and I remember holding his right hand as I sat beside his bed. I remember somehow jumping out of my body and saying to myself 'remember this moment, look really hard at the details and never forget it because someday he won't be here and you will need it when times are hard'.
I remember the curve of his thumb, the softness and colouring of his skin and the kindness and warmth that somehow softly emitted him and wrapped me in love and safety. Not his face, not his voice, not his eyes, but his hand. His hand in mine. There. Laying on top of the starched cotton sheet and worn hospital blanket.
I still don't know to this day what made me step back and take it all in, that moment so I could lock it deep inside my memory, but it is the only image I remember well.
When I look at photos of dad they somehow don't resonate with me. I don't remember him how he looks in photos. He looks short and old and somehow pointy. In my head however he was soft, and caring and while I know he wasn't tall there was something all encompassing about him that is taken away in photos. He was a man who radiated warmth and caring. When we had nothing, he would still find something to give away to someone who needed it. And without a word he was my rock.
You always wonder what legacy you will gain from your parents... I stole my dads emotions. He loved wholly and deeply and when things hurt him, they did so in the same way and while you could tell if you looked into his eyes in the brief second his heart winced, he was never bitter or judgemental. He just somehow seemed to soak up the badness and show more love and compassion than before.
I'm not as strong or as selfless as my father. I can't somehow trust my emotions in the way he did. I see him in me when I am in quiet moments contemplating life and aren't wrapping myself up in the here and now. I see glimpses of how similar we could be. I see his hand holding mine and teaching me every lesson I ever need to know in life with nothing but a touch.
Before he died I lied to him, a huge lie, one I can never take back and I know caused him pain. I saw that look in his eyes before he wrapped me in a hug that evening in our kitchen and let me soak his shoulder in my tears. I brought sadness into the last few days of his life. I also brought laughter and I brought love. I held his hand, and when he was gone I held his hand again, cold and pale. I kissed him goodbye and I have never let him go.
He gave me my emotions and he showed me how to care; how to love.
I miss him.
------------------
Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird American Mouth (Wedding)
Beautiful.
ReplyDelete