4:24am February 2, 2015

Every day I think about my dad.

Every day I feel like I’m getting to know him better. Every time I put on his clothes, every time I go through his belongings that he had my mother sent me, all of it. I can feel things, smell things, about him, that I couldn’t before. I can understand him in a way I couldn’t before. It’s too bad he couldn’t be alive to see this, but I think he’d understand. In fact I think he did understand this would happen, and that’s why he chose the precise stuff to send me. He knew I learn best through connections with concrete objects, and he gave me the concrete objects that would lead me to him. Meaning he speaks my language more deeply than I ever realized. Or more like, I speak his language and had no idea the degree to which I’d inherited it from him.