I Should Be Asleep But My Mind Won't Let Me

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I'm not asleep.

I know. You already knew that.

Why introduce this post with such a simple, unnecessary statement?

I don't know. But here it is again.

I'm not asleep.

But my child is, and that's what matters most.

For the moment.

I'm sitting here like I'm 90 years old.

I literally just put some Icy Hot on my left knee.

I have no idea what the heck is wrong with it, but I probably slept funny.

And of course, I have an actual occasion this coming weekend and might even dance a step or two - and NOW I'm walking around smelling like my dad after he played ball all weekend.

Actually, he used Ben Gay more than Icy Hot - but it still makes me think of him.

Maybe that's why I'm still awake.

It's been too long since I've shared words about the old man, and goodness, I miss him so.

I didn't overlook the anniversary of his passing. Not that you thought I would have or could have - but I did skip writing about it this year.

I held my memories close and my family closer.

My heart and mind processed everything. Tear ducts exploding or whatever it is they actually do.

* I don't do science, y'all. The body is science. And so - no clue. *

I think maybe tonight I'm thinking about him some more because the kiddo and I head to New York this coming weekend for a family event, and I know he will be missed.

I'll miss helping him with his suspenders.

Don't laugh - he wore them now and then, only under a suit, and usually to [obviously] keep his pants from falling down, because nobody needed that to happen.

I'll miss the smell of his cologne.

I miss that frequently. I don't really know anyone who wears cologne - except my brother - and they're different scents. And I don't see my brother enough to connect the two except on the rarest of occasions.

I'll miss the downstairs bathroom smelling like hairspray even though I'd tease him about how much hair he had left.

I'll miss what his hand felt like while I was holding it.

I'll miss watching him dance with his granddaughters. Missed moments we never got to really see.

And I'll miss watching him dance with my mom.

Their movements so in sync with one another. Year after year. Event after event.

And then I'll miss him dancing with me.

It's been so long.

I feel as though I can't truly remember the last time. But I know that if I try hard enough I probably can.

* There it is. This one's mine. *

And the memories and the moments and the scents all come back to me.

All because of a few swipes of Icy Hot.

So while I know I'm not quite 90 - I can laugh and joke and mutter Yiddish expletives - because that's how my father taught me to be.

I miss you, Daddy.

Love you so.

Talk to you often.

See you in my dreams.

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