The Memories that Haunt Me

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I remember… the faint smell of cigarettes in the downstairs bathroom each and every morning…

His own personal scent was nicotine concealed by just the right amount of spearmint so he smelled more sweet than smoky.

            I remember cigarette buds in the flowerbeds and all the times I stole his smokes because I had heard the rumors and I just didn’t want him to die.

            I remember the day my parents sat us down… “Cancer… esophageal fucking cancer” and you know what I did… I laughed… I laughed and joked because I didn’t know it yet but I was scared shitless.

I didn’t want my father to die.

            I remember softball games, playing catch in the backyard and the way I had to pinch his nose when he snored just so I could fall asleep myself.

            I remember ice cream sundaes and days at the pool, climbing on his back begging him to toss me further into the water because I was a kid, and he loved to see me smile.

See life isn’t hard until the proverbial bubble pops… until your world crumbles… until you can’t remember your dead fathers face because selfies weren’t a thing in 2010 And all you have left are those fucking photos from 1996-2006 or

… If you’re lucky …

that random shot from the last family gathering… which in my case is a photo of me dancing with him at my cousins wedding in 2008… our first… and last… father daughter dance at a wedding... well shit…

See soon all the memories just become questions of what was real and what is just a picture on your bedside table that you still kiss goodnight every night even though you know… that wherever the universe decided to shit him out… he has been sleeping for hours.

I remember scruffy kisses like pin needles on my cheeks, walking around in his size 11 shoes and the nights I snuck out of my own bed because in the process of tucking me in he had fallen asleep himself.

I remember big bear hugs, screams from the sidelines and racing to the door when he got home… especially on the days he had given blood because he always had presents.

I remember… the figure my father… standing at the laundry room door arms wide and open waiting for a hug he got every night… even when I was hesitant to give it.

I remember sounds, smells, the shirt he wore to meeting and the colors of the lollypops I got from the bank tellers that passed us our money through a stupid glass window.

I remember…Orange t-shirts, red drawstring bags, a smile across his face when he walked through the door even though he secretly hated his job… I remember infectious laughs and the tube they drilled into his side

and I still hear the sound of the garage door closing behind him. 

Comments

jena_vargas

That. Was absolutely beautiful.

Krissy Shaye

For the lack of a better word, ASTONISHING. Keep it up, you have been blessed with an amazing gift. One that you don't want to waste.

kmstephenson

Powerful.
Unbelievably powerful.
Keep your passion raw but let your wounds heal.
I'm truly sorry for your loss.
Take care and keep writing.

SarahWest95

Hi, I run a poetry blog on Tumblr, and was wondering if I could put your poem(with full credit to you) on my blog?

iluvwritingxoxo

absolutely beautiful

Darlene_Mae

Amazing.

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