I was worried when my father died that I wouldn’t have any real memories of him. I was too young when my parents separated to ever remember living with him, and I was so angry at him for a lot of my adolescence that I didn’t enjoy seeing him.

But lately things have been flashing into my mind. Joe and I went to a football game and I remembered how last season I kept trying to arrange to get my dad to a game and it never worked. And that when I was a kid I once went to a football game with my Dad and sat there, unhappy and freezing and not understanding the game, just because I wanted to spend time with my Dad. I wanted him to know that I wanted to spend time with him.

I also remembered that one of the football games was on Halloween night and I decided that instead of going to the game the kid and I (along with my mom) would head over the Grandpa Joe’s house and trick or treat from there. I hope she will always remember with fondness that she got to help him hand out candy. I will.


And then a couple of days later we took the kid to soccer and my brain flashed on the last time my Dad said goodbye to her. He knew she was starting soccer and he reminded her to kick with the inside of her foot. I remember that, but I can’t remember the last thing he said to me.

I guess I’m moving through grief. That’s what I gather from the things that I’m feeling, the trouble I have sleeping, the fears I have of other people in my life dying. The irritability. The utter confusion. But here I have these memories, popping out at the strangest times, giving me the slightest comfort.

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