missing my dad

My dad died in 1999. This September it will be 8 years. For the most part, I still miss him but rarely cry about it or get too upset about it. The whole experience of losing a loved one is so much easier when you know that person is just waiting for you in heaven. But every once in a while I will see, hear or smell something that will make me miss Dad as though it all happened yesterday.

I was grading these projects my students turned in on Monday and came upon one that was a blown up map of europe taped over some other boardgame. It looked very much like the game Risk. My student had drawn all these paths around the game that detailed paths of attack and battle sites basically reinacting World War 2. There was one tiny section of the game that I am almost certain was written in his dad's handwriting. It was that angular, very straight writing that so many dads, including my own, have. As I sat there staring at the board, I could just imagine my student and his dad working on this project together, discussing battle tactics, troop numbers, and how to create this very unique game. It just made me ache because my dad loved the game risk and also I loved showing my dad the things I did in school and working on projects with him. I was so envious of my student in that moment because of what he and his dad were able to do together. Sometimes I just wish I could show my dad the things I have done or how amazing a husband Troy is or most of all, how perfect his grandson is. Most of the time, I don't really get sad about his death. Because, like I said, I know without a shadow of doubt, he is in heaven just waiting for our family to be reunited. But, every once in a while, the ache of that loss comes to the surface.

I think memory, the ability to recall details, sounds, sights, smells of our past, is one of the greatest gifts God gives us. Have you ever really thought about how amazing it is? That I can remember with absolute clarity the way Dad's hugs would feel after a bad dream; how the taste of a butterscotch sundae will remind me of stopping at dairy Queen on the way home from Christmas pageant practice; still being able to see the wrinkles on my grandmother's hands as she would sew; a cologne that can bring my grandad back for a moment; the smell of gardenia returning me to my Hawaiian honeymoon; the lyrics to a song that remind me of a carefree day with friends. What a gift that is. What a gift the power of memory is. Without it, death would be an absolute. Loss would be unbearable. But, because of memory, I can see a gameboard and remember my dad in a whole new way. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he is with me again. What a blessing it is that God gave us the ability and the desire to remember what should never be forgotten.