OK, so now I'm finally grieving for my father. What does that mean to me? I really wish I knew. I find myself on the verge of tears at the drop of a hat and my feelings are easily hurt. I'm really p*ssed off at Dave, much more more than usual, and believe me that's saying something.
I also find myself with memories creeping in. Since I have very few real memories of my dad, it seems I have lots of memories where he should have been but no memory of him being there.
I remember his upholstery shop in our basement. The saw horses with the latest project sitting up on them. I remember being allowed to tear the old material off those pieces. We got to keep whatever we found inside.....believe me, lots of times there was a huge chunk of change. It was something I looked forward to.
I remember I used to hang out there sometimes just to be with my dad. But I have no memory of my dad in that part of the basement. I can see the projects, all the tools, the commercial sewing machine......everything but my dad.
I remember the seer sucker shirts my dad used to wear in the summer. My mother made these shirts early in the spring so they were ready when the weather changed. I remember my mother working on those things but I have one and only one memory of my day ever wearing one of them.
I remember one Christmas my younger brothers got a wooden train set. My dad was down on the floor playing with that set. The boys tried to play too and my dad slapped the hand of one of them. My mother thought it was funny and laughed that my dad wanted that toy for himself. I remember the story. I remember the train set. I was there when it happened but I have no memory of my dad doing that.
I DO remember what my dad looked like. I remember his face, his height, his build, his weight. But can I remember a smile, a frown, any kind of movement or spoken word.........nothing...................