Thoughts before dawn

I cry two times a year. Some years there are other days, random days when life overwhelms, or a good movie or lame commercial hits just the right chord. But in general I'm more of a stuffer, an arms length girl if you will, so that tears don't rise too often.

Both days are for the same reason. My father. Who has been gone for six years now, which still amazes me because every now and again I think I see him somewhere, or that I should ask him something and then I remember again. I wait for it to get easier, and it has, until it isn't. Like on Father's day, when at some point in the day I lose it. Like this year, randomly in a hotel room, listening to some song on the radio. I don't even know what song it was.

This morning I woke up at 3:30 with a terrible stomach ache. Tossing and turning I couldn't get back to sleep. Rather than risk keeping Sean awake, and pondering all the school work I still have to do, I got up. I'd just go grab a quilt and lay on the couch for a while. So I headed to the spare room where they are kept. Hmm, I thought to myself. I think this is a day I could use a little Dad as I grabbed the quilt Crystal made us from his old shirts. No sooner did I hit the couch than the salty tears started trickling down my cheeks. Oh yeah, today's the other day. July 20th, the day we lost him. No indication the tears were coming, they just did.

And so I let my mind wander through the past as I thought of all the time I was lucky enough to have my Dad. All those things that were especially Dad. I'm just like him. It is so funny to me how the things that annoyed me the most about him when he was alive are the traits that I now hold myself. It's like a mirror. Short fuse, quick irrational anger, a detest for mornings (how ironic I'm up before dawn today). A fierce loyalty to friends whether earned or not, love of family and silly car trips. Nothing makes me smile like the smell of industrial hand cleaner, or a deep diesel Riesling. My sense of humor and my losing it at inappropriate times. That is all from him.

I'm not the only one either. I see him in Zach. In the way that he crosses his long legs and reads the comics. In his silly laugh and his sense of humor. And the cowlick. Oh that cowlick. Yes, that boy has Thompson in him.

And so on this 6th anniversary of Dad's death, I celebrate his life and legacy. We are all here, together at last and I believe, carrying forward all that was good in him. We are after all, family.

Since I'm up, I think I'll go watch the sun rise.