Monday, March 3, 2014

So, my Dad showed up Friday....

Not really, of course.

He's been dead over three years now.

He was there though, on Friday, in the unlikeliest of places.

Mini-me had been pestering me all morning to take her to get her hair cut. They had the day off of school and the husband had taken Freckles skiing.

Anyway, I finished all the writing I had to do and set out for the day to run errands and get her the haircut she couldn't live without. 

We walked in to the shop and put her name on the list, sat in the chairs in the waiting room. 

Then he came in the door, this complete stranger that I pretended was my father for a little while.

He was thin, almost gaunt. His Levi's had a dark wash and had been meticulously ironed. They were obviously purchased at a different time when he carried more weight on his frame, held up now only by the thick brown leather belt. The notches each worn down progressively, a tell tale sign of someone withering away. 

Trust me, if you've ever watched it happen, you know exactly what I am talking about.

His burgundy shirt draped over his shoulders loosely, tucked in just so. The leather jacket he wore in was hanging on the wall, and he sat beneath it on the other side of the waiting room. 

I tried not to stare, but I'm sure that I failed.

His hair had been brown, though the gray had taken over almost completely. He was here because it was long past time for his hair to be cut. It was brushed back straight since it was too long, kept in place with a hefty dose of hair spray. 

His skin was weathered, tanned with the lines of time and experience. 

His eyes were kind, though I did the best I could to avert mine whenever his rose up towards me.

They called my daughter back and I went with her briefly to tell the stylist what she wanted done. Turned to go back to my seat and smiled at this man, this total stranger, those kind eyes.

I could feel the tears welling up in mine, but I forced them away. Returned to the life of a mother trying to keep a fidgeting five year old still in a crowded room.

When they called his name, this man I don't know, he walked past me just long enough for his scent to move towards me, and that did it. 

That was all I could take.

He smelled just like my father. 

Aerosol hair spray, Stetson and Brut aftershave. 

I drew in a deep breath and allowed myself to pretend for just a moment that he was here again. 

Because he was. 

5 comments:

  1. Could have been my dad too, though he's been dead for 20 years. It gets better but there are moments just like these every once in awhile. Sad but happy in a way. Beleive it or not, the concentration on your kids helps keep you balanced...ox

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  2. Just to experienced that had to be overwhelming.

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  3. Isn't it amazing how they just show up when you need them the most. Sending hugs.

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  4. I see people a lot that remind me of my grandparents. My mom told me one time that my grandpa's favorite bird was the cardinal, and I in turn told my children...so now every time we see a cardinal (or cardinals as the case may be) we all say, "hi grandpa!!" makes me sad yet happy at the same time, because I know deep down, he's there with us.

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  5. *crying*.. i lost my brother when he was 22, 14 years ago. His birthday is just around the corner. The anniversary of his death 28 days later. I go to a hippie crunchy college...and, i am reminded of him ALL the time... he was a huge dead head. He played guitar AND harmonica (both of which i have in my possession). So, it's hard to *not* see him sometimes.... because, he'd fit right in. Just thinking about the post that i will be writing i a couple of weeks is already making be bawl. Thank you... and HUGS...

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