by Patti
Two years. So much can happen in that span of time. A baby learns to walk and talk, a seed becomes a tree, a moment becomes a memory. When looking back over two years, it can seem like a long time. It can also feel like a sigh.
Tomorrow will mark two years since my father's death. There are parts of my dad that seem distant to me now: the way he danced on the street corner with my daughter to the tinny music of the ice cream truck; the way he laughed so loud the room shook; the way he looked at me with unbridled pride. There are also parts I wish would become distant: the way he cried when he learned he would soon leave this earth; the way he twisted in his bed as he lay dying; the way his face was wiped clean of expression after he took his last breath.
One would think two years would be enough time to close the gap between the awful memories and the good ones, but somehow - it's not. Somehow, the awful memories still take precedence; still tend to hold down the good ones and smother them into submission.
One day, I know the gap will close, and the awful memories will seem distant and painless. Until then, when the good memories fight to allow themselves in, I hold fast to them. And then I pray that somewhere out there, my father has found peace.
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| Atilio C. Voglino 1939-2010 Husband, Father, Grandfather, Brother, Uncle, Son |
