Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Of all the things to forget...

We all know, as we get older, we tend to forget things.  I still have a pretty good memory and remember certain things with vivid details.  Sometimes it surprises people.  I don't try to retain information or memories, it just happens.

Often though, I will wonder if I really do remember something or it is because we've talked about it or because I've seen pictures that I do remember.  Then, there are times where I wish I could forget some things.  Doesn't seem to work like that...

Tomorrow will be fourteen years already that my father passed away.  When I close my eyes and think of him I still see his face the last time I saw him alive, when I held his face in my hands, told him I loved him and that he didn't have to do it.  The look in his eyes, the pain and sadness emanating from them was so great, he was a mess and it showed.  My next flash of his face was at the morgue, he looked so, but oh, so sad.  My poor father.  I often force myself to remember a picture of him taken a few years before his death, where he smiled and looked happy.  That is how I want to remember my dad.

Last week, while chatting with Hubby I realized that despite my best effort I was losing touch with my father's voice... I can't really remember what he sounded like.  I recall what and how he would say certain things, but the sound of his voice is fading away.  I'm not from a generation when people did video much, we didn't even do home movies.  My folks took pictures, lots of them.  I have the albums to prove it.  I have no recording of his voice.  I miss hearing him calling me "ma grande".  That is one thing that today's kids should cherish, having videos recorder/recordings readily available to them.  You have a (recent) cell phone you can create memories to last you a lifetime.  Makes me think of those messages we've heard after 9-11 that had been left by the victims before their deaths... as much as it is sad it is also a source of comfort for those you did get them.  I've often wished my dad would have called me before he walked to the shed.  He didn't.  I guess he needed all his strength to do what he was about to...  He didn't leave a note either - he didn't know how to.  He left quietly.

Despite the years, it still hurts.  The pain isn't as sharp as it was once, but it is still there...

 
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