That moment when something triggers a memory that you had an argument about with your Dad decades ago, and you find yourself mentally marshalling your thoughts to continue the heated discussion only to recall that he died decades ago and isn’t there to argue with anymore.
I expected to miss all the good times and I was somewhat prepared for that when as I watched Dad fade away. Later, I wished I’d missed ONLY the good times. Even the bad stuff was precious in its own way and can be missed just as much.
It’s constant too. Like instinctively reaching for the phone every time I have great news to share only to recall that Dad is long since gone and the number was disconnected over 20 years ago. It halts the heart in ways few things can.
I have accepted his death. I no longer shed tears over his passing. It’s just every now and again I forget and then the memory comes crashing back home and is just as painful as it was the moment I first heard the news.
Grief is a weird thing. It’s never quite over with and sometimes, not quite bearable. It’s in the long distant past and 20 seconds ago.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and finish those arguments a little differently or if I can’t alter the event, perhaps just enjoy it for the connection it was, at least just one last time.
And that’s the really painful part. There are no more chances. No more do overs. No more opportunities to do things differently. The book is closed. No sequels. No future. All the words there will ever be, written.
No matter how much I might wish for a second chance, there are no fairy godmothers to wave a wand and make it possible. All the things we would do if we could and the most important of them come from places of regret and lost opportunities.
The grief is 34 years old and by now, hollow. But the echoes of what could have been still haunt, as I’m sure they always will.
PepSpill 