This photo I carry on the visor in the Jeep. I had just bought my first project house and it was an ugly bastard. But Dad and I were going to make it good again. The future looked bright and we were so very excited to be working on a project together.
Today, driving home from the bean field, I looked at this picture and burst into tears. I just bought another house this morning and Dad isn’t here to work on it with me.
I cannot measure what I lost when my Dad died. There are ragged edges in my life left from when Dad was torn out of it. Those edges are healing, but it's scar tissue.
Dad and I would end up working together on six houses. We became:
“Well, what does THIS one smell like?”
And then we’d walk through the house and start getting excited about how good we could make it.
Dad and I could always see beyond the dirt, the rot, the cracks in the plaster. We could see the goodness under the grime. So we’d pull out all our tools and tackle the ugly.
And we would talk. While our hands were busy we would talk about whatever came to mind. Important things. Things of absolutely no importance. Things we liked. Things that drove us nuts. Family, pets, the weather, which of us could fart the loudest. We would talk about the good and the ugly.
My Dad loved me and he made sure I knew it. But not only that, he LIKED me. He was my number one cheerleader. He had my back and together we wielded “pound, pound things” (hammers) and used our cordless drills to “scroove” (screw) things back together and we made ugly into good.
I miss working with my Dad. I miss talking to him. I miss his jokes, his oft told stories, his hugs, his farts, his walk, his smell, his laugh.
Yes, life goes on. And yes, my life is very good. But today I really miss my Daddy.
Love, Chris