I miss…
His voice. My God how I miss his voice. For 27 years he was my voice of reason, my calm in the midst of the storm, my soother, my comforter, my advice giver. I have his cell phone voice mail saved on my iPod. There is a daily internal battle within me deciding whether I can listen to it or not. Some days it brings a smile to my face…others it is a reminder of all that we have lost. I tread lightly never knowing what any given day will bring…
His “Name That Song” game. Growing up my room was across from the bathroom. This meant waking up to my father’s classic rock radio station. I grew to love it as much as he did. Years later we would be driving and he would say, “Who’s the band? Name the song?” He would always be surprised when I got the answer right knowing I had paid close attention all those years…
The way he answered the telephone…”COWCIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Always. It never changed. It put a smile on my face every time…his jovial energy was contagious even through the phone. The night he left I dialed the first four numbers of my parent’s phone number at 10:38 pm. I decided it was too late to call and hung up the phone. He left this world an hour later. It is a constant guilt I live with. What would our last conversation have been? I had the opportunity to talk to him one last time and I passed it by. It hovers in my mind every day…
His love for peanut M&M’s…and grape popsicles. The man who could have been a professional chef…who loved his cooking stores…and specialty cookware…and he loved peanut M&M’s and grape popsicles. He had an affinity for the finer things and the simpler things in life…
The way he loved my mother. I remember a trip to Colorado. My mother had a migraine upon our arrival to Denver. It was late in the day on a Saturday. My father sat in the hotel room and dialed every single chiropractor and spa in the yellow pages to no avail. He wouldn’t give up. My mother kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t until he found somewhere that could get her in. …and he did. I remember thinking I hope I find a love like that. He lit her up every time they were together. I miss that radiating light…
The sound of our house. One of the things I will remember about my childhood is how our house sounded. A constant bellowing, roaring laughter. When my father’s friends were over…the laughter echoed throughout the entire house. …and after he left they made a promise to us that there would still be laughter…that they would take care of us. …and they have kept true to their word…
The before. The complete. The familiar. The normal.
Our bond. I was a true Daddy’s girl. We shared a love of good food, good music, photography, travel, design, golf, red wine, witty banter. My mother would always say, “You are truly your father’s daughter.”
Our future. I am carrying his Grandson in my belly. I hold a great responsibility in relaying the man that he was to my child. I have stories to tell, recipes to pass down, traditions to uphold. It has been emotional to say the least knowing my baby boy will never be placed in his arms. I look at all of the images of Sabrena, Michael, and Luka with him and think of how very lucky they are…
Three years and we are still in this place. I am lucky for having had such an amazing father in my life. I do not take a single day for granted. No lesson goes unnoticed. Every minute of every day I am thankful for the life I have been given. He is still here with me and is a guiding light in all that I do. Today, on the day we lost him three years ago, I choose not to mourn his death, but to celebrate the wonderful life he lived for his story is so very beautiful…
Three years of missing you Papa…
Always,
Your Cowcie
