Always and forever

It is one of those days. Those that make you grateful for what you have, and remember with mixed emotions, those beautiful people who have passed from this life to the next.

It is Father's Day.

It was nice to see so many of my friends on Facebook take a moment to celebrate the Dads, husbands and brothers in their lives. As did I. However, I was one of a few friends who's post was to honor our Dads who have passed away.

The other night some family friends stopped by my place. We stood together looking at the wall of photos in my living room. Among the many photos hanging there are those with my Dad in them. They remarked that it was so difficult to grasp that he had passed away. To them he was still so present. As though at any moment he would be walking in the door having just returned from a ride on his Victory motorcycle. I told them my mom and I feel the same way. He's just out having coffee with my Uncle Tony, or he is off on a ride. We will soon get a text from him telling us when he will be home. I think that is why my mom and I never use the word gone when referring to my Dad's death. He is with us still. Maybe it is because he was so big in life that his memory has a way continuing to fill space.

I have to tell you, he is one of the most handsome men you've ever seen. He is one of those manly, rugged type of man's man. He is movie star handsome. A striking man who could stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Clint Eastwood and Tom Selleck. And my Dad was a people person. He enjoyed talking with people, and getting to know them. I'm not sure he ever met a stranger. People were drawn to my Dad. He had that charisma. When he walked in a room everyone knew he was there, but not for any reason other than he had a way of filling a room. A disarming smile and sparkling green eyes. And he had this scar above his left eye from going through the windshield of a corvette at the age of 17. The scar begins above his eye and curves up into his hairline. Somehow it just added to his good looks.

I was his only child. His Goog. A nickname I earned as a baby because my eyes were so big. And it was what he called me until he passed away. I have vivid memories of so many times and so many places when he would look and me and in a quiet low voice say, "I love you".

So it was no surprise today while I sat at the computer reading my friends posts about their fathers, that when I looked over to my right I heard those familiar words again from him.

I know Daddy, I love you too.