Sometimes…

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone…

On an ordinary day when I am going about my routine: waking up, going to work, coming home, nodding off to sleep…I forget that he’s not here anymore. 

When I walk into my office and take in the lighthouse paintings that line the walls across from my desk. 

When I enter a restaurant for dinner that smells of coal-fired pizza crusts and sweet marinara. 

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone…

When I watch boats float down the river on a beautiful, clear day. 

When I pass a restaurant menu and have to stop and look. 

When I call home to talk to my mom.

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone…

When I hear my nephew laugh or my niece cry.

When my family gathers around the table for a holiday meal.

When football plays on the TV in the background.

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone…

When the cool breeze whips through the trees as I walk home from the metro station.

When the condo is quiet and the night is still. 

When I see him when I sleep and feel him when I’m awake.

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone…but maybe that’s because he’s really still here.

For my father: March 5, 1950 to October 28, 2011

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4 comments

  1. I know exactly what you mean. I haven’t been able to watch a single football game because it was our dad/daughter thing to do on Sundays. I sit in his spot on the couch when I’m at my mom’s house. Your words are so beautiful and comforting.

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