My dad has been on my mind this last week. That sentence may be misleading because my dad is always on my mind. For some reason, I feel his spirit even more than usual recently. Maybe it's the holidays because I have a dull ache in my chest when I think of him. It's been so long since I got to talk to him. More than five years.
The worst part about losing someone is forgetting what they look like. What they sounded like. Pictures never captured my father well and while looking at old pictures helps me remember a little, it's not enough.
Sometimes only words can do it. My dad's green mayflower uniform. The way my dad would decorate the house on Christmas. His homemade donuts. His Big John belt buckle. The way his garden looked in Mira Loma. The way my dad would always say, "Give me a hug Jennie."
I can't help but cry to think of it. I think back to my lost years. All those years in Houston trying to be a success never realizing that success is not defined by how much money you make, but by how much love and forgiveness you can gather in your life.
I know you can't go back, but if I could I know where I would travel to. Straight to the passenger seat of my dad's sixteen wheeler to pop in his eight track tape and sing along with him to some Johnny Cash.