As the sun rises over the horizon, I pull my collar up to keep my neck warm from the chill. I'm not the sort who prefers the cold but I am the sort who prefers routine and ritual and this daily trek to see you is part of that. Sometimes, though, the rain does keep me away. Cold, though, cold I can confront, mind-over-matter, and even make a game of seeing the smoke of my breath cut through the air as I exhale. This morning's frost makes my breath crystalize but what brings hope into my soul is that cut of sunbeam, slicing through the frigid morning.
Sunrise makes me think of you.
But you already know that.
You know everything there is to know.
Every day -- well, most every day -- I make my way here, to this spot, to tell you everything, though, just in case you're less able to know me as well as you did once before. I come to this bench with the tiny silver placard with your name engraved on it and that heartbreaking reminder of the date you were born and the date that you died. Our son, he doesn't like to say you died, even after these two years since it happened. He likes to say that you left us but I know that's not what you did at all. He and I got into a bit of an argument over it not that long ago, when I said it was insulting to say you'd left us, like you'd said you were going to the corner store for cigarettes and milk and just never came home. I said it wasn't good for your grandchildren to hear him talk like that and he'd slammed his fist on the table and said he'd talk about you leaving however he saw fit. We had an awful time sorting that out. I mean, you probably remember -- we talked about it after and, to me, you were right there beside me during the whole... event. I like to think you took him aside, too, because he calmed down quicker than normal and even came with me on my walk to see you the next day. Remember? We just sat on the bench in the cold, our hands shoved in our pockets, staring at the spot of ground at our feet. It was nice, though. Calm. It felt so serene. And after awhile, his elbow jutted over and tapped my arm.
"I'll make you a grilled cheese when we get back to the house," he said.
Made me laugh because he'd never made me so much as a bowl of cereal before, but you taught him your grilled cheese trick and I think that he meant it as a peace offering.
Most days, though, I come here alone.
Today, I'm alone.
It takes me about seven minutes to walk to this spot in the park, your favorite spot, or so your granddaughter decided. We let her decide, within reason, of course. She picked this spot and us "elders" gave it the green-light, and we worked with the city to install this bench with the placard on it. It's here in that clearing where you and our granddaughter liked to play Spirit-Fairies, at least that's what she told us. With me, she always makes me act out a farm animal or a circus animal while she acts out the role of farmer or lion tamer or whatever suits her game the best on any given day. Anyway, sounds like what she played with you was more specific. She said that you'd chase around this clump of trees and jump over the flower beds and say things like, "Abracadabra, green grass!" Just silly things like that. Well, we had to approve her idea to put your memorial bench here after all of that. We just hoped you liked it OK.
I think you do, though, because whenever I come here, I swear I smell your perfume, just faintly. Some days, I could swear I heard your laughter, especially once those flowers bloom. I much prefer my visits to you on those warmer days.
But, well, I come even in the cold because it's only a seven minute walk and it's good for me to have this routine. I was always a man of routine, as you know, but I do fear that tendency has...advanced since you died. You were always the one who brought my spontaneity out. Before you, I didn't think I was anything but rules and order and this-after-that. But you were so the opposite of that, I think we balanced each other out. Now that you're in spirit -- that's what I try to tell our son to say, just like you taught it to me before you died -- now that you're in spirit, I feel you with me but I also feel your personality dropping away. You warned me this could happen and so I am doing my best to roll with it but it's strange to have this ritual of talking with you every day and still knowing that it's less you as time goes on. It's still you, but... How did you teach it to me? You're less ego, more soul. I only think I understand what that means except that maybe I kind of feel it these days.
Every day -- well, most days -- at sunrise, I come here to this place to catch you up, just like I promised I would, but I also do it because it's nice to see you in every season -- I can't explain how I know it's you when I see you except to say that I know that it's you. It's why I still come, even in the cold. It's why I'll always come, until I cross into spirit, too.
Until then, I will keep telling your children and grandchildren as many stories about you as I can think of, even if they've heard them a hundred times over. I will bring you into every conversation I have and I will resist any individual who says you're not here anymore. I know differently. Even on the coldest days, I know differently.
I see you in every sunrise, after all -- just like you promised I would.
First line by Susie Bowers
2023
Virtual Tip Jar: Venmo @sarahwolfstar
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