It’s still strange for me, the absense of my father. I keep waiting for that distinctive sound he made when he would clear his throat or having him poke his head in the living room when he would have a commercial on the television in the other room.
I guess I’m just feeling a bit melancholy tonight because my trip is coming to and end and soon I will have to say goodbye to my family. I’m never one that does well with goodbyes and I know I will shed some tears over the next day or two.
The airport drop off routine was always the same when my Dad was alive. He was always the one to drop me off, just him and I. I’d always have tears rolling down my face for at least 2 or 3 miles before we actually arrive at the airport. He knew this and would only ask questions where a nod was enough of an answer or he’d ask no questions at all. He would take my bag out of the trunk and place it on the curb, give me a hug, make a little small talk. At this point I cannot even look up, I can never say anything because I am a wreck. But I know he knows I love him, so this does not need to be said. A quick hug and off I rush inside.
-the photo is from the movie, “Home for the Holidays.”