Racing at forty miles an hour, smile on my face, drumming on the steering wheel, the acoustics of our favorite Goo Goo Dolls song vibrating throughout the car. There is no where else I want to be.
One of those Saturday mornings where you wake up clenching your flannel sheets for warmth. Comfort. I glide from one step down to the next—awaiting a snowflake mug filled with warm hot chocolate. The cards are dealt, serious smirks take hold of our tired faces, the routine game of Clue has begun. Each roll of the dice I try to read his mind—try to figure out his next move, try to understand what is going through his head.
Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
The Goo Goo Dolls’ song, Black Balloon, paints his smile, mimics his laugh, brings him to life.
The sky, heavy with clouds, shields the moon from lighting the sidewalk. One hand holding mine, the other gripping tightly—so the whites of his knuckles show, the dogs’ leashes.
“Yellow car! I’m winning”, I shout excitedly. Trying to calmly accept the score, he keeps his eyes alert on parking lots with a rainbow of car colors.
Driving through life—no seatbelt, radio blasting, spirits flying. Freedom. Coming to a stoplight I pause and take a look back. Cars backed up. Bumper to bumper. My memories crowding my every thought. Everywhere I go, head straight on my shoulders, Dad close to heart. Strength rooted in grief—stained by tear marks. You can’t wipe the tears away with the windshield wipers. It’s that shark fin in the middle that never gets wiped away.
Tuesday morning we sit at the black table in the kitchen, the thick smell of cinnamon rolls luring us in. The five of us sharing a goodbye breakfast. I quickly run upstairs to grab a few things: phone, jacket, pencils, notebook. I hug him tightly, wrapping my arms around his warm, grey sweatshirt. His smell reminding me of his car, darting through yellow lights, the welcoming “Little Bird” I got whenever I came into the room. He starts to loosen his embrace, but I linger. “I’ll never let you go”, the words ringing true in my ears and his. I hold on for life, not only for mine, but for his.
Things I’ve learned from him:
Live like there’s no tomorrow
Treat other with respect
Work hard
Love
Question that will never be answered:
Why?
I see red sweatpants, I watch the Cubs games, I listen to Goo Goo Dolls songs, I flip through pages of memories—each neatly protected by plastic; I think of him.
Slowly approaching the drop, hands in the air, butterflies on steroids, routine handshake, screams.
Plunge.
The purple and orange steel guides our fright safely throughout the ride.
“You may push down then pull up on your lap bar”, we wobble down the stairs and watch the next group of people experience the Raging Bull.
“I love you”, “That there’s a Kel!”, “I’m proud of you”, “Game time”, “I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
A hole dug so deep that no amount of soil can fill it.
Tears dry, hands stop shaking, head stops pounding. Silence. Faced with unfixable heartache. No more smiles, no more hugs, no more praise. Just silence. Reflection. Who am I?
What I know for sure:
What has happened does not make up my character. It builds it.
My head is screwed on a little tighter, my heart a little more vulnerable, not as accepting.
I practice volleying at the net. Feet in position, ready for the next ball. I veer my eyes to the curtain and see his face. His white teeth shine through the netted opening. Proud.
Three words to describe him:
Determined
Loving
Unaware
Three words to describe me:
Determined
Loving
Aware
I’m ready. Ready to face the next roll of the dice, ready to coast down Raging Bull, ready to hit the next ball, I’m prepared. I’ve learned to learn. I’ve learned to grow. I’ve learned to love.
