I don’t think anyone will ever understand how much I miss my father.

As I look at him lying there as if he is only asleep, I remember the most random things:

I remember the skin graft on his left middle finger though I don’t know the tale of how that injury happened.

I remember that he always seemed to have a story to share. I remember some of them word for word.

I remember how he spoke to my boyfriends. He was open and unfiltered. He had no impression to make with anyone. They were in his house with his daughter after all.

I remember how he met me at the front door and hugged me tight the first time I visited after I’d moved out on my own.

I remember thinking he would live forever.

Until the weekend when my brother called. Then suddenly, his mortality became very real.

I remember when I left Brooklyn that Monday, it really never occurred to me that it would be the last time I saw him. I was glad I had held his hand ever so briefly.

I remember the phone call from my sister telling me he was gone.

I remember bursting into tears at my desk. I remember composing myself quickly so that I could organize my return to Brooklyn.

I remember all of us gathered there putting together his final goodbye — each acting according to their gifts. We each grieved in our own way for the man with whom we’d all had relationships that defied description.

I remember this song being the first one I memorized as soon as I got my hands on the CD. It was released a full ten years before that Easter Monday when we said goodbye.

While I sing it for both my parents, it’s fitting that my favorite group created the song that speaks for my heart most especially when I think of him:

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Relephant Read:

Rumi as Solace, Faith & Prayer.

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Author:  Lois Person

Editor: Renee Jahnke

Image: Tyler Bedgood-Flickr

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