I think of him every day. When I look in the mirror in the morning I think of him… because I look like him. His hair, his nose and his chin. I think of him when nature is looking exceptionally beautiful. He loved nature. I feel like he’s part of the nature that surrounds me. When I admire the beauty of a tree blooming from its winter sleep, I am with him.
My dad would write a note each morning. To us. He believed in Mornings. In the note he greeted us, individually by name or as a whole. He’d remind us to have a great day, to “smile large”, he might wish my brother or me good luck on some endeavor or give us the low down on the day’s weather. He almost always drew a smiley face.
I made a bad choice. I skipped my pap for a couple….. scratch that, a few+ years. Terrible idea. I won’t justify my irresponsibly. BUT I will say this…it was during this time that I was severely depressed and began therapy which was two or more times a week. I was already overwhelmed with fitting in those appointments between work and family… and making ANOTHER appointment seemed exhausting and out of the question.
Again. I made a bad choice.
I washed my coffee pot today. I know, people give zero shits about the cleanliness of my coffee pot. I care though. Mostly because I don’t clean it often. My dad hated his coffee pot clean. He also hated his coffee mug and Yogi Bear spoon to be cleaned. He said that the coffee tasted better if brewed and consumed from a well-love pot. I agree.
It’s just every time I have to clean the coffee pot I’m forced to think of him. Not that I don’t think of him often, because I do, but it makes me think of him in a way that really makes me miss him. And missing him can be really hard at times. Really hard.