Memories Aren’t Always Real

As the dust settles around me, I'm drawn back into the memories of what had been. The memories fly past in a whirl of emotions. I can't seem to stop them as they quickly blur through my mind. All those times when I needed your love and you gladly gave it.

The first memory is the day we met. I was a crying baby, and you were a smiling blur of a face. The one I was immediately drawn to with that boisterous laugh and the crinkle in your eyes. I remember the giggles and the feeling of being safe that came when I was in your arms. As I was passed around the room, I always kept an eye on you. Even then, we had our special connection.

Next, the smell of dirt floods my nostrils as I see the disgusting mud pies we made in your yard. The only one who encouraged my messy creativity as I learned to mold and explain myself to the world. Even as she leans over to yell at us for making a mess of her garden, you laugh and tell me to enjoy myself. I learned to create, to express myself, and to ignore those who try to get me to stop. And just look at me now!

Then comes the Daddy-Daughter dance, when you were my replacement for a father who worked the overnight shift. You in your suit and I in my little dress. We danced, laughed, and enjoyed our fancy night even when the fire alarm forced us out of the gym and into the cold night air.

I see the millions of trips we took together - our trips down the street to CVS for hidden candy bars when she sent us for milk, hot air balloon festivals to see the brilliantly swirling colors, museums, restaurants, and trips to the library to feed my growing book obsession. It always started with you saying, "Hey, kid, want to go on an adventure?" as if you ever even needed to ask.

The times we spent 'working' together when you'd let me run rampant at the garage to burn off my energy. Never caring when I screamed "Papa!" and all the other guys laughed. Letting me climb into any one of the machines...even when I wasn't quite tall enough to do it myself yet. Watching as you made lunch for all the other workers and were always there as a confidant, a friend, and when necessary, a boss. It was never just me you treated with such patience and care, but you always made it seem like I was the center of the universe.

I see the days when you made sure I was the center of the world - my graduations, birthdays, first day of school, first days of work, and my wedding. Those days when a girl just needed a little more attention, you were there to happily provide it. From helping me blow out the candles on my birthday cake at five to finding the perfect band for my wedding at thirty. You always knew when I needed help, but you were never overbearing in offering it.

Then there were the days when I just needed a friend. When I needed someone to vent to about the mean high school cliques, the terrible bosses, or the drama at home. You were the one I turned to for all of it. My heart was safe in your hands. You'd take me to get ice cream when I wasn't invited to the party. Years later, you'd take me to get ice cream when my boss was being verbally abusive.

I wrap up the trip down memory lane with clips from random life days that weren't big to you, but meant so much to me. When you surprised me at the first library program I led with flowers and dinner. The time you gave such a wonderful wedding speech to make my heart melt. As we walked around town looking for my first apartment together. Yours was the opinion I craved, the hand I held onto, and the one who most understood my restless spirit.

As the memories fade, I notice a tear sliding down my face. What I truly remember most is that you were never really there for anything past college. First, the dementia tore our connection, and then I remember I'm enduring the ultimate ending to our story as I watch the dust settle on your newly buried grave.