Day One Hundred and Six

I don't know exactly why and probably won't spend much time trying to figure it out, but I grabbed my favorite photo of my father and felt compelled to sit with him for awhile. I can look at that picture and remember every little thing about him. The soft folds of his face, his smooth brow even though he was 78 years old and his salt and pepper hair (more black than grey) and how it was always neatly coiffed. My father had big bushy eyebrows that were a big part of his smile. And Dad always smelled so good. He had a large Adam's apple and his hands were gnarly but had a wonderful choreography about them. His smile was warm and his laugh infectious, especially the little impish grin that always accompanied the laugh. I'm just thinking that these are the things that make people alive. It's in the knowing, touching, laughing with and crying with, that give life to memories. I can look at pictures of my grandparents, but not having actually experienced their essence, I cannot know them. My father I did know, my brothers and sisters I do know, my husband, sons, and friends, I have touched and felt the life coursing through them. They have shared it with me. I think I underestimate the importance of the direct interactions I have with those around me. So many times, I end up spending so much time trying to figure out my legacy and don't realize that it's here right now, in the day-to-day encounters with all those people who are important to me. Legacy does not have to be tangible nor measureable, at least not to the person who owns the legacy. My father's legacy is in my hands, my eyes, my hair and the blood that courses through my veins. His legacy is in the hugs I can still feel and the many things we did together. He gave me the ability to laugh and get pleasure out of simple things - I can still hear him laugh at the Coyote and Roadrunner cartoon which would make me laugh too, more at him laughing at it. He gave me his sense of humor along with many other personality traits that I discover as I get older. As I see these things in myself, I know my father even better. I miss him, yes, but he left me with many, many cherished memories of a man who did the best with what he had and I can only hope he was happy - I think he was.