
I lost my father the day he died.
My world, which at the time was much like a plane that felt like it was on a steady journey, was suddenly flipped upside down. It then crashed and burned through clouds of rage and overwhelming sadness. Then my world went silent. And it stayed silent until I allowed myself to feel again, and I have been healing ever since.
But I did not just lose my father the day he died, I have lost him many times since then.
I lost him in the last hug I gave him, and in the last phone call we shared.
I lost him that morning in March of 2018.
I have lost him every time I have re-lived that moment of finding out he was gone.
And then I lost him again when I grabbed my phone to call him to tell him about my day, and realized I no longer could.
I lost him on his birthday, when I knew exactly what gift I had wanted to give him.
I lost him on Father’s Day, and every other holiday that I had normally spent with him my entire life.
I lost him the first time I went to Carvel alone for their weekly sundae special, and didn’t have anyone to argue with over what three flavors to choose for a banana split — and I lost him again when I didn’t have anyone to share it with when I arrived home.
I lost him when I wanted chicken paprikash in the way that only he knew how to make it.
I lost him when my tire flew off of my Honda and when my engine light came on in my Jeep.
I lost him when I sold his Mustang.
I will lose him again when he is not here to see me graduate college, or walk me down the aisle at my wedding.
But I have not only lost my father, I have also found him so many times.
I found him when “Play That Funky Music” played on the radio and remembered how he used to dance each time it came on in the car.
I found him when my friend’s grandmother unknowingly made linguine with garlic and olive oil, exactly the way my father used to whenever I told him I needed comfort food.
I found him at every car show.
I found him when I adopted Bodhi, remembering how we both cried in the shelter the last time we rescued a dog together.
I found him when I saw the appreciative, loving impact of gifting his leatherman to my cousin.
I found him in old voicemails that he left for me and letters he wrote.
I found him in the home video of him teaching me how to ride a bike.
I found him in cardinals.
I continue to find him in his friends who still keep in touch and share stories that I’ve never heard.
I continue to find him every time I look down at my wrist and see my tattoo in his handwriting, or put his gold cross around my neck.
I continue to find him whenever a smart-ass remark slips out of my mouth and my mother calls me “Little Nick”.
I have found my father so often after his passing because although I lost him, he is not gone. His memory is still alive, breathing life and drive into me on my bad days. There will be endless moments throughout my life where I lose him again, as I am aware that grief does not end, it only changes shape. We cannot bring our loved ones back, but we can keep their memory alive in the things we say and do with what time we have left. Which is why it is important to BE the things that you loved most about the people who are gone. So, regardless of how many times I lose my dad, I will spend the rest of my life finding him, too.
