In 2006, I lost one of the most important people in my life. It blindsided me honestly and I work through my grief in writing. David was my stepdad, but he was also my friend. He was easy to talk to and he helped me through a lot of junk in my teenage years. He was supportive and intelligent and caring and I miss him every day.
Of all the lessons that I've learned Of all the thoughts that you've burned into my mind that's the one I hope sticks That something as simple as a potato shaped like a heart deserves to be remembered or made into art, immortalized.
That's what the world is about these moments - calm and quiet that we can bring up again and again - long after those we experience them with are gone Of all the lessons I carry with me through life I think of this most often: Always sit in the speaker seat. Become one with the music. Life's too short not to.
This gnawing, empty feeling Remembering, and afraid of a day when I won't remember. Thinking of the protection I once felt but no longer do or can or will. There are days when it's expected. February, on your birthday. Christmas, Father's Day, Thanksgiving. July 12th, when I got the call that you were gone. Those are days I brace myself for.
Remembering your calls to check on me and make sure that everything was okay. Remembering your hands on your guitar. The guitar I wanted to learn to play, but was too lazy to practice those three chords over and over. Remembering you saying "Now that I have a captive audience, which lecture do you want to hear?" as you drove me to school. There are days when it's expected, and then there is today.
I miss you. I wish I could sit back and listen to you sing, like I once could. Save me a speaker-seat up there.