Today is twelve years.
Last year, I posted about the day my dad died. Every June 15th, that day comes back to me with a flood of tears.
Today, my sister and I are trying to remember the little things about him that are starting to fade.
His laugh. His hugs. The way he'd brush our hair when we needed some Daddy time.
But, with each year, it's harder to remember.
My sis was twelve when he died. So this year means that she's spending more of her life with him gone that she did with him here. She remembers even less than I do.
His laugh is hard to remember, but I remember that it was mostly silent. Like one of those laughs that's more airy and sort of wheezy. It was even that way when he wasn't sick. I guess my brother's is kind of like that, when I think about it.
He had these perfect hands. He could be a hand model. He always kept good care of his fingernails.
It's funny, when I see his face, my brother looks so much like that picture in my head. Even the way that he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at things when they're funny and sort of ridiculous reminds me of my dad.
But there's not much. I don't remember what it was like to hug him or have him hold me. The only touch I remember is how his body felt when I first saw him after he died, in his hospital room. I remember falling into his lap and holding on, wanting him to hold me. I remember how still his legs were. I remember the feel of his knees on my one elbow. And his lifeless abdomen on my other.
I want to remember much more than that. So badly.
I knew that this day would come. I knew that one day, it would have been so long that I wouldn't remember what it was like when he was a part of my life.
I just want to remember so much more of what it was like when he was.