He Went to Work

As soon as he closed the door, I ran around the apartment opening drawers smelling everything. I know we rely on our eyes and ears and fingers for the present but smell connects us to the past. The blanket in the library: popcorn and deodorant - we used to watch movies on Sundays in the basement. The tennis shirt on the dryer: ick! sweat – he used to hang it on a table in the laundry room.

Every new drawer was a mountain of memories. His hairdryer. How many times did I stand in the doorframe of the bathroom watching him dry his hair? Surely I must’ve had something better to do. Towel around his waste, he’d run the dryer with the comb attachment straight back over his head. At the end, he’d either get a drink and sit watching tennis or he’d part his hair to the side and finish getting dressed.

My mother's dressing table didn’t have the curlers and alligator clips I expected. Instead, it was modernized to carry what she needs nowadays. Further evidence that the concrete foundations I set my world upon were made of dust and duct tape. That’s not a bad thing, just a disorienting part of growing up I guess.

Take the pots and pans we had when I was young. They felt eternal, like they were the only pots and pans we would ever own. I’m sure my parents have always bought new pans every few years but the years when I was young lasted forever! When I see new cookware in their kitchen, I have to remind myself that it's normal to replace old pots with new ones.

So lucky to have had dinner with him. If he died tomorrow, I had dinner with him tonight. There will always be questions that I want to ask him - I want to spend more time with him now than ever before. As I grow closer to his age, experiencing more of what he has experienced, any chance to ask questions and get answers is a gift from the heavens.

Smile, and know that you know nothing about the world. He’s laughing at himself as he answers your questions, knowing that he asked the same ones for the same silly reasons… Life is a crazy parade.