I was gliding through Easter weekend unscathed (with the exception of a few thoughtful texts from friends) when "Piano Man" came on Pandora while I was painting, and as soon as that damn harmonica started in, so did the tears. Try as I might to only think of the good, it's still painful to remember … that I have to remember. I don't want memories I want him here, telling me stories, making fun of Shawn and entertaining my kids. But if there's anything I've learned since he's been gone, what I want doesn't matter because I'm fastened in reality and such is life and loss. I hate it, I can't change it and it continues to suck. And the word suck doesn't even do it justice.
On the bright side (if there is one), one of the greatest gifts I received after he died was a slew of old photos from family and friends. Photos of him from high school, from my childhood and more, Polaroids even. Evidence of Dad…
…sleeping on the floor. Funny to see this was apparently a habit of his way prior to any of my memories of it. And of course, there's the infamous Kawaski shirt.
…wearing hats. (Or would the kids these days call them skull caps?) I've seen him in many a stocking hat, sitting on the top of his head, never down far enough to cover his ears. He always told us the majority of your body heat escapes through the top of your head anyway. Apparently this was also a practice of his since well before my time.
…looking like Ty. Or should I say Ty looking like Dad? I think the photo below is an eerily similar appearance of the two. They must be related.
…hanging out with little ol' me. Rumor has it, I was a pretty happy and mellow baby, and I'm sure, always very well behaved.
…sneaking Mandi cake batter. And now we all know where that habit started!
…just as I remember him. Very frequently with long hair (sometimes tamed with a red bandanna), usually bearded, rarely smiling in photos, always sporting some individual flair.