I last visited Lock 9 on the day my dad died last June. It just felt right to use this rare, beautiful spring evening to take a walk there today with his dog and granddaughter and try out the camera he never got a chance to use, especially since this spot was among his favorite subjects.
The weirdest part of grief is you never know what exactly is going to make it come on. Sitting on my front porch on a beautiful autumn day, waiting for my youngest child to get home because she has a half day today. Then all the sudden tears start running down my cheeks because it should be Dad, not me, waiting on the porch to take a very special little girl to the diner for some rare one-on-one time. The fact that those moments are gone forever makes me feel like someone hit me across the chest with a baseball bat. I know the feeling will pass and she and I will have a great outing, but it doesn’t make the pain any less real in the moment.
It’s been just over a week since Dad died and the things that get to me aren’t what I expected. Going to his house or driving his car – fine. Sitting on a park bench waiting for the kids to go to the bathroom – completely choked up. I keep feeling like I see him coming around corners or in the edges of my peripheral vision.
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