What does infinity look like? A candle burns in your memory and I’m reminded of your bright and captivating spirit. A rare breed in a sometimes dark and hollowing world. But you never looked at it that way. To you, the world was a beautiful place, a place of hope, but what you didn’t know is you made it so. Part of me wants to believe that you are in a faraway place, much sweeter and more vivid than this, listening to your Frank Sinatra tapes, running your fingers across the top of a magic microphone as you contemplate your next theatrical gesture; awaiting you, all of the spaghetti and rice pudding that you could possibly hope for. Part of me wants to believe that you are at complete peace, and that you dance with the prettiest angels at night as they tire of their white-robed spouses. You have your own modest home, but instead of a box made of cement it is shaped more like a cloud, and as the world turns you watch it through a window in your kitchen, one of my most treasured spaces. Part of me wishes for these fantasies, the same part of me that longs to hear your laugh, and feel one of your nobody-loves-you-this-much-in-the-world hugs. It’s the little girl in me I guess, the one who’s been here all along but is veiled by the passing of time. After all, what does it mean to grow up anyway? But to become taller, and longer, and a little less plump and soft as the light in the sky wears our skin and callouses our soles.
Today marks four years since you’ve gone away, yet you are still my father, and I, still your daughter. It’s funny how that works. No matter how much time passes, or where I am in the world, I will always know those things to be true. I’ll never be fired from the job, and I sure as hell will never be able to walk away. And so, here we sit. Hand in hand, (figuratively) until the end of time. Maybe I mean to say for all eternity. How do we know which one is longer? Is one a euphemism for the other, or do they mean the same thing? This is what I need you around for dad. For these intricately curious questions that I just can’t get my head around.
Do you remember when you taught me about music? Well, you never did it directly like those eloquently sentimental movie scenes, but you did sing to me everyday that we were together. You put on old records and watched in delight as I reacted to them. All you would do was tell me to listen, never imposing any sort of grand opinion or traditional rating system to which I should abide by while doing so. You simply put it on, and allowed my imagination to do the rest. I must tell you, I never could have understood what all of that would have meant to me now. Maybe that is why I’ve always been able to appreciate new sounds as just that. New, non-intrusive, fresh, vibrant, and open to whatever my heart and mind should decide. What is more beautiful than that? I miss the joy you got out of it. I remember the look in your eyes, gleaming, and in awe as if you were hearing the music for the first time all over again. In the words of a true romantic and rat pack mogul, memories are made of this. And in the end, what else do we really have? I guess all that’s left for me to do is thank you, with all my heart dad. Thank you for helping me hear the music…