magic in the woods

December 19, 2023

Today would have been Daddy’s birthday. He would have been 66 today. 

I’ve thought of him a lot this week. I thought of how he felt the last time we hugged. Fragile and tiny. Nothing like how he was before the end and then I tried to think about how he felt before, before, like before he got sick, and I couldn’t do it. It took several attempts at it before I could remember. 

Right after his death, I couldn’t remember any of the good memories. All I had was the moment I found him, the sickness, and the despair. As I type this, happy tears fall, because finally, I have him back again. The real him. I can see his smile and his light. He truly lit up a room when he walked into it. I have his 185 lb memory now. The few years he spent at the waif-like 140, is all but a wisp of time. It was hard to see it then, going through it. After his death, I really hoped that that version wasn’t the one I’d be left with, and it’s not, thank goodness. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him at all sizes and in all the inbetween. You just tell yourself what you can to get through it and convincing myself his weight loss was normal was easier than facing the truth. 

As the year has passed, his memory hasn’t faded and that’s the magic. 

He always smelled like Irish Spring and Salem Menthols. I especially liked it when we’d go over to the house on Camp Creek and visit him before he went to work. The kids would come bounding in with their thirst for Chef Boyardee and honey buns; a junk food addiction that only Grandpa could supply. He’d be sitting on the edge of the couch, on the very edge, his elbows on his thighs, usually holding a cigarette between two fingers, letting the smoke draw out and dance towards the arched ceiling. 

The kids would make a beeline towards the kitchen before they settled in around him to watch an episode or two of Tom and Jerry. He and I would talk about politics mostly. He was one of the only ones that shared my views but I was just a chip off of the old block. Progressively Independent. He leaned towards the right, while I leaned towards the left. We’d talk about meaty subjects and what was going on within our inner circle. He’d give me the family update and I’d return the favor with the younger generation’s tea. We’d end the evening with a hug. I’d ask him to drive carefully and have a good night and we’d make plans to get together again. 

It’d be just another night, like tonight. He’d wear his royal blue scrubs and the hunter green fleece Columbia jacket I’d gotten him for Christmas at discount, when I worked at Belk. I still have the jacket, not sure I’ll be able to give that one up. He’d put on his black sneakers and I can still see him putting on the going-to-work essentials, sneakers, jacket, keys and smokes in his pockets. 

During the summer, it was harder for him, leaving us in the pool to work nights at Piedmont. He’d still sit the same way, except he’d be on the little plaid wicker love seat on the back porch. Everything was the same, except the weather. We’d listen to records while the kids swam and we would talk. He was my favorite conversation. He’s the only one that didn’t exhaust me and we could go right on until it was time for him to leave. There was no disagreement that could end it. Whatever words passed between us, love still won out. Nothing would ever change that, except when death came calling. 

His memory hasn’t faded and that’s the magic.