The heat and sun of this week, and the calendar week itself, brought my Dad’s final days to mind, and on a lunch break the other day I found myself walking to the church where I sat during his last week when I was trying to hold myself together at the office. It no longer stings like it once did, it no longer aches as much, but when the air and sun hit like they did two years ago, it brings me back to that sad time. As always, the melancholy is not unwelcome: it is proof that love survives, and that my Dad is still here with me.
There have been signs, and I’ve been attuned to them. A cardinal flitting about the backyard. A commercial that played ‘You’ve Got The Magic Touch’ – a song my Dad used to sing out loud when he was in a playful mood. Each was a wink from the past, bringing happy memories of my father to the present.
As the anniversary of his death approaches, and summer remains turned to high, I take the days quietly, thoughtfully. It’s the safest and surest way to proceed when Mercury is in retrograde and the world has me in its crosshairs. I feel my Dad with me, and I know everything is going to be ok.
