Memories

I'm writing this from Toronto. I'm at Meg and Phil's, they're at work, but should be home in about an hour. I spent the evening killing time, mainly napping, which is good. I'm so tired these days.

Getting up here was interesting. Mom decided to drive me into the city. She wasn't comfortable driving me all the way, so she left me at Warden Station. That's familiar ground for her, since we used to live a few blocks from there.

She showed me our old apartment building and pointed out places that she and Daddy used to frequent. It's strange, my father used to do it all the time when he'd drive me up or both of them when we went to see Aunt Carla, but listening to Mom do it made me sad. Mainly because Dad's not here any more and there'll be no more new memories, just the old treasured ones.

These last few weeks, I've thought of him a lot. The memories have been playing in my mind, so clearly, as if they happened only a moment ago. I'm talking distant memories.

I can see myself as four, five and my daddy lifting me up in the air and spinning me around. I can remember summers at Hiawatha, on the boat, watching Daddy water-ski and then, later, learning myself. I can still here him saying, "you can do it, chucklhead," the first time I ever-tried. I can clearly remember friday nights with the music really loud, lots of people, and dancing around the living room with Daddy to some Stones song, as if the music just ended. It's all so clear, all the moments.

I miss him so badly. So much that it hurts. I just want him back, more than anything else. I'd trade everything to have him back. I just want one more moment. There's so much left unsaid. It's like these conversations left unfinshed. Things I meant to tell him, meant to ask him, things he asked me to find for him and I never got around to. There was so much left undone.

As Mum pointed out all the places of their youth, I tried to picture them then. My mother, younger, happier; a smaller, darker version of myself. My father laughing and happy; a young, awkward man, but still cute. They were so in love, so happy. I heard the stories and wish I had known them then, in that part of their lives when they were perhaps their happiest...

A Barbara Streisland (yeah, I know, I hate her, but...) song has been playing in my mind these last few days. The Way We Were.

The Way We Were
By Barbara Streisland

Memories light the corner of my mind.
Misty water color memories
Of the way we were.

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind,
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were.

Can it be that it was all so simple then,
Or has time rewritten every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again,
Tell me? would we? could we?

Memories may be beautiful and yet,
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget.
So it's the laughter
We will remember,
Whenever we remember
The way we were;
The way we were.

It's kind of fitting the way I feel. It's the good memories, the happy ones that keep playing in my mind. I don't want to think about the bad times, and there were many, so I black them out. If I feel that way now after only a few months, how will I feel in years? Will I black out the bad and remember only the good? Will I forget the imperfections, the many faults that made my father, the man that he was? I hope not, but I can't be sure.