My dad was taken too early from us five years ago this August. While I think I've dealt with his passing as well as I possibly can, he is always in the back of my mind. I don't think he'll ever leave there nor do I want him to. I do wish we had more time together but we did get 25 years...which is more than some people get. When Dad died...I cried, I screamed, and I hit inanimate objects-mainly my walls. I wanted nothing but to have Dad back. We got through his funeral. I acted as the strong one holding up my mom and my sisters but inside I was screaming "Not my Daddy! Please let this all be a horrible nightmare!" A nightmare it was but instead of a bad dream where you wake up sweaty and shaking, this was real life. I was pissed off at the world and even more pissed at the guy who hit him and left him for dead in the ditch. "You fucker! You can't say you didn't see him! Why couldn't you have grown the balls to turn yourself in? I hope you live everyday seeing his face. I plastered it on posters, on the news, and in the papers for you to see." If I could have gotten my hands on that guy I know I'd be sitting in a prison cell for murder. I would have killed him with my bare hands.
Fortunately I've gotten over my murderous instincts. While I don't know if I can ever find it in me to forgive my Dad's killer...I know that if I did find him I wouldn't inflict bodily harm. I think that's saying alot.
I started thinking of this post the other day. I had a customer who walked into the bar and just for a moment I saw my dad. This guy had a walk very similar to my Dad's lazy gait. I was instantly taken back to my childhood and saw my childhood home. I saw my dad walking around our house in his holey t-shirts and worn out jeans with the bulging pockets because he carried every damn key known to mankind. His wallet chain and the 20 pounds of metal in his pockets from keys to change jingled with every step he took.
Then there was the man who in his talking said certain key phrases that my dad used to say. My husband will do this sometimes without even knowing it. I often wonder if he does it because he heard my dad say it or what.
Today I saw something that prompted me to write about this. I took Courtney to Carls Jr for lunch. I was running errands and needed a quick meal before I had to finish and go to work. We sat at a booth for two and proceeded to devour our food. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man who was painstakingly trying to get the last bit of guacamole out of a little plastic cup with a fork. I glanced over at him and saw that he had already emptied one cup and was trying to finish the second. His deep fried burrito was glopped full of sour cream, salsa, and guacamole. I almost let out a laugh as the memories of my dad came flooding back. Dad used to do the same thing! As I watched this guy (and tried hard to make it look like I wasn't) he scraped the inside of the little cup with his fork and then would lick his utensil. He was so focused on getting every last drop out of that damn plastic cup that you could have dropped a bomb next to him and he wouldn't have even noticed. All I thought is that Dad used to embarrass the crap outta me by doing that. Then I got all teary eyed and had to look down hoping nobody saw the tears running down my cheeks. Courtney, thankfully, was oblivious to her crying momma and was more concerned with how much BBQ sauce she could get on one chicken star. We left as soon as she finished.
I love how I can pick out traits my dad had in almost every man I come across. I wish I could bottle it up and keep it forever because I know there will come a day when I forget. I'll forget his walk. I'll forget the sound of his voice. I'll forget his smell.
So keep it coming guys of the world. I don't want to forget my daddy!
