Memories

The sad thing, yet good thing, about death is that in time, a realization occurs that the person who died is no longer alive, and will turn into a more of a memory. You can't talk to them, or see them, watch their mannerisms, or touch them. They become a memory, and as more time goes by the memories of them become harder to recall. This passing of phases can really help as you don't feel as sharp a sting when you remember their absence, or at least you don't feel it as often. I've started to arrive in that place, and I'm feeling better. It hurts less, I comprehend my father's absence more, I don't feel like he should be calling me or coming back, not anymore.

I would like to record, on my blog, memories of my dad, and of my sisters. So that as these memories may become harder to recall, I can read them and remember them. I am so glad to know that I will see them again, but I do feel frustration in the amount of time it will be before we are reunited.

So if there are random posts about them, you will know why.

Dad
My dad loved telling a certain story about me. When I was very young (You know probably only 6 months old or something as I was so brilliant) he was working outside. He was cutting wood. I watched him, and rather than seeing what he was making with the wood (I was very short) from my perspective I only saw what was on the ground. I looked up at him and asked "Whatcha doing Daddy? Making triangles?" He was floored by my brilliant question at such a young age, and I think my age decreased about a month every time he told the story. My dad loved bragging about his girls.

Squirrels and Groundhogs
Boy, if there were two pests in my childhood they were squirrels and ground hogs. We had 6.5 acres in New Jersey, and those darn groundhogs loved to make big holes out in the grass. It made my dad furious. When he spotted one, he made us all be still. He quietly went to his bedroom, got his gun ready and snuck up on those groundhogs and shot. My poor sister Aimee hid in the basement, she felt so sad for the poor animals. I generally did everything she did as I worshipped her, but I thought it was pretty cool. I didn't mind watching him trying to get those groundhogs. I also remember him trying to smoke them out. And the squirrels would always eat our fruit off the trees. When we lived in New Jersey I remember going up on the roof with my dad. We were up there to shoot squirrels. I can't quite believe he let me go up there with him, but it was one of my fondest childhood memories. I would spot the squirrels, point them out to him, and he would shoot them. I felt so special. It probably only happened twice, but when I talked about it in later years, it was something we "always" did. Just me and my dad. I prided myself in being the son he never had, at least didn't have yet... In Utah he had squirrels too, digging holes through his rock retaining walls. He had to use a bb gun or something since we were on a small piece of property, but he still shot those squirrels. And I still pointed them out to him.

Horses
My dad loved horses. He owned race horses. A few time, he took me down to Freehold to watch the horses race or just visit. We visited my Aunt Lily, whom I loved. We always got some kind of Beer advertised clothing or something out of it as they sponsored the race track. For years we used the Coors light umbrella which was kind of embarrassing, but they were nice umbrellas and he wasn't about to get rid of perfectly nice umbrellas. Dad eventually got out of the horse business, after much prodding from my mother, but he always loved horses. His favorite horse was EZ Ben. I always wanted a horse named after me, but it never happened. But my older sisters got horses named after them.

Hands
I don't ever remember my dad with his hands free from the effects of hard work. As I worked on this basement and had my hands nicked and cut up, my dad told me he knew exactly how I felt. He said he always had a smashed finger or a cut or two healing. I remember it. When I remember my dad's hands, I remember his battle wounds. Just the small wounds from the battle of life, but so uniquely his hands. I love hands. My dad's hands worked hard throughout his life.

Driving
Oh man, my dad was a scary driver. He was very aggressive. Very fast. And later in his life, very scary. But he always seemed to be in control, and didn't get in a lot of accidents. When I got the phone call that he died in Wyoming, I was 100% sure that he died in a car accident. I asked my mom about it, and was floored when she told me it was natural causes. How that man didn't die in his 66 years of a car accident is beyond me, but I am SO glad that we don't have to deal with him driving in even older age. Taking away his driving privileges would have been nearly impossible, I'm glad we never have to go there. Both me and my dad can drive for long periods of time and not get drowsy. I'm glad I got that quality from him.

Love. I think I'm going to do a whole post on love.

Running
I don't remember my dad ever running except once, but it is such a special memory for me. When I was in 5th or 6th grade I wanted to get a certain time on a mile. My dad took me to the field and we practiced. He held a stop watch and timed me. He cheered me on with each lap. After running a few miles, he told me he would practice with me, and he ran a mile with me. I was the luckiest girl on Earth. There I was with my Dad coaching me on running.

Cheerleading
I think I've mentioned enough that my dad was so proud of his kids. One thing that made him so proud was when I became an Aggie cheerleader. When I had cheered with Cheerz I was a base in stunting. I loved it, and my email address became ericabase. When my dad got my computer all set up for me at college, he named my hard drive "Ericaflyer" because I became a flyer in stunting. He was so proud, he loved to come to the games and watch me. He took pictures of me, and printed them out for me.