Screenshot of a Lifetime

This is the last time I talked to you. I am glad you answered the phone for me, but on the flip side, you sounded really sick. It wasn't unusual for our phone calls to be short, sweet, to the point. I didn't think much of it when I hit end call- no one ever does. Now I wish I would have kept you on the phone, now I wish I could still be on the phone with you, til my arm falls off of my body. I wish I would have kept your voice on the line til I reached you, til I could have seen you in person and maybe stop what it is you did. I can't even promise I would have been able to change your mind. That hurts worse. Maybe you still would have done it even if I had seen you that night. Maybe you wouldn't have. Now I'll never know.

I miss you more every day, dad. It hurts worse every day. I carry on for you, for the family, for Liz. I put on a brave face most days, but I just wanna be held by you and be called your little girl again.

An Ode to a Mechanic

If I could take away my entire familys' pain, I would put every pound per square inch of their hurt in my body. I would replenish them with what little fuel I have left myself. I would cool them down when things get overheated. I would air them up when they felt deflated. I would change out their blown fuses. I would be their windshield wipers, only to let them see ahead of themselves right now, to show that there is a street somewhere in front of them, somewhere hidden in all that rain. I would take the steering wheel and drive that street until the sun shines again for them.

But it feels like it is just a bad nightmare that my passenger, my family, our friends, everyone he knew, is having. I wanna scream, "WAKE UP!", and when they do, it becomes our reality. Now it feels like I can not drive far away or fast enough or both to escape what is now the actual. It is my nightmare reality.

So we pull over.

I hold them- they weep- I hold them and tell them that he is still here; I tell them that he is still here as long as we never let him go.

It still makes my heart race to think about how you are gone. It makes me light headed, dizzy, anxious, nervous. I want to believe you are not actually gone, but that I can call you at the shop and you'll answer.

I saw you Saturday. You looked like you were sleeping. I kept waiting for you chest to move or your eyes to open. They never did. But I could feel you with me there. I felt you Thursday as it poured raining harder and harder as we made our way to the shop. I feel you now.

It was your home. And you are my home. I will never let anyone forget how much I love them and care for them. Sometimes I feel like I failed you, when I know in reality I didn't,  but you always feel like you can do more.