The Bittersweet Sting of Memories
Thoughts sprung from a photo memory
At one point after my Dad passed, I copied his photos from iDrive or iCloud or something. These photos ended up in my own OneDrive and now pop up in my memories. This one came up today.
It doesn’t seem like much. A random photo of my Dad’s hand holding something, but it drew my attention.
A Man and His Jeep
First, I noticed his pride at getting a flashlight that so perfectly matched the color of his Jeep. His corvette was a very similar blue, by the way.
Dad came from a family of car people. His father worked for Cadillac & Oldsmobile, if I recall, and his brother restored antique cars into hot rods. Cars were a part of who my Dad was and our family was very anti Ford.
Looking back, I can see how this influenced me. One of the first things I did when I got a full time job and had money was to buy a brand new car. My first car was a blue VW Cabriolet convertible and I adored it.
As I was saying, cars were a big part of my Dad’s life. He always wanted a corvette but, with 5 kids, he settled for a Camaro until he was able to get his corvette later in life. The Jeep was my step mother’s influence, but my Dad jumped in with gusto.
Dad joined the jeep forum and as a lover of humor got involved in a humor thread which connected him with Jeepers all over. He built relationships online and met many in person. Many became his support structure as Alzheimer’s took my step-mother and his own body fought cancer. Some were even there for me as my Dad's cancer worsened. They all loved him. My Dad was such an easy person to love.
I was touched by the handful that made their way to Vermont to attend his burial and celebration of life. And by their photo of Jeeps in missing man formation on an off-road trip my Dad had joined them on before.
Hands
The second thing that struck me about this photo is his hand. Can you picture the hands of the people you love? Maybe it’s just me, but there's something about the meaning of hands. I remember how much it bothered me that my Dad’s hands were so swollen in the hospital. They didn’t seem like his. Holding them wasn’t the same. So I love seeing his healthy hand here.
I love seeing my Dad's photos come through in my memories. They are reminders for me of the life he had, the people who mattered to him. It still stings from time to time. I wonder if that will ever go away. I miss him dearly.
