"Advice is like snow-the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon and the deeper it sinks into the mind." -Unknown
It snowed tonight. It was the first of the season. The wet, sticky kind that would stick if the earth were cold enough to let it. Instead it melted as it hit the pavement. I was at work talking with my GM and a few other employees when I noticed the flakes falling outside. For the very briefest and fleeting of moments I thought about the silence that seems to befall the world when it snows. It's as if all the night's noises are muffled by the pillow of snow. And then I thought about how the most audible of sounds at that time is the splash of cars' tires as they push their way down the road through the slush. That led me to thinking about endless months of cold and wet and blah. All these thoughts passed through my head in seconds...then I reached for my phone to call you. My hand didn't even make it half way to it before I stopped and remembered you wouldn't answer.
On my way home from work an hour later, I called you anyway, like I do every year. Even though I knew you wouldn't answer, I just wanted to hear your voice on your message. And then it hit me. I haven't cried in a while when remembering you. I think of you every day and I miss you all the time. And it often makes me sad. But I haven't cried. Tonight I did and it was overwhelming.
I miss you, Dad. Sitting here typing this, I am thinking about all the memories I have of you that involve snow. Sledding at the Prior Lake house down that big ass hill, then later at VA when we were older. I can remember you teaching me to make snowballs. I can still see your hands packing the snow together, showing me just how it's done to create the ultimate sting. I remember all the times you'd arrive home from work and my brother and sister and I would be too consumed in building snowmen to notice you'd pulled in the driveway. It wasn't until we were being ambushed and bombarded with snowballs that we even realized you were there.
I have always felt like I have this empty place in my heart, Dad. When you died it quadrupled in size. I have no idea how to begin to close that hole. I know I'll never fill it, but I think repair is possible, to some extent. The thing I find myself missing most often are our talks. Never very long, but always so full of thought, love and honest advice. I miss talking to you everyday, multiple times a day, more than anything I've ever missed. Sometimes I miss our talks as much as I imagine I would miss my right arm if I suddenly lost it in some tragic turn of events. This last 2 days alone I have wanted YOUR advice and thoughts on things at work, at home with the kids, men in my life, my car, future education I may one day seek more enthusiastically...the list continues.
My life will probably never be the same. I can't honestly say it would be more bearable had you died as an old man instead of the young one you were. I think I would still feel the same things as deeply as I do and with as many years between your death and now. I can't stop missing our talks. I love you, dad. And I miss you. All the time.
