Things not to forget

Michael said it's inevitable that you start to forget things about someone that's passed away; their voice; what they looked like; specific details. I had a voicemail from my dad that I deleted before he died and I think man, if I had kept that then I would always have with me the sound of his voice.

Here are some things that I remember now that I don't want to forget. The buzzing of the inverter in the background when he called me. When he made me a sandwich for lunch when I was there in June and I had already eaten and he had been out working, but came in and made lunch for both of us and I wasn't hungry but I ate it anyways because he made it for me. The trip to John(Peter?) Lindsay's to drop off the wood to be milled for the countertops he was going to put in the kitchen and how I had to direct the dumptruck and the insane border collie that kept on trying to herd his truck. Having dinner with him at the blue roof and the way he was sort of pleased at the way curious people drifted over to our table to see who the infamous Gordie was having dinner with. Him trying to beat the horsefly in the cab of the truck to death in the most violent manner and then turning to me and saying, "Those are the ones that'll take a chunk outta ya" and me looking at him quizzically before he hopped out of the trunk and I subsequently grabbed the glove and hammered it to death and informed him of this when he got back in the truck. Watering all of his trees and plants. Being amazed by the beautiful things he had grown. Sitting on the cement table and chairs that he had single-handedly moved up from South Surrey. The dried rose that was next to my bed in my bedroom that had been placed there long ago (maybe my last trip there) because, when he had time, he would do special little things like that. The electrical cord to the electric barbeque that was too hot to touch so he had to unplug it because it was either the wrong cord or because it was broken. Kayaking out to the Finnerties and seeing a huge group of seals bathing in the sun who all lumped off the warmed rocks into the ocean and then followed us, snorting, at a curious distance. Looking back to see him crack open a beer in his kayak on a stellar evening in the Strait of Georgia with million dollar views. Trying to sell him on the modernist cabin we saw on the way home. Garfield singing to him at the top of the stairwell. Chasing a deer out of his garden. Going for a run and being passed by him in his dumptruck and then catching up to him because it broke down, but he was fixing it and asking if I could throw my hoodie into the cab and he said sure, so I did and continued on. Him telling me that I "walked funny" when he saw me doing lunges after my run. Being agitated that he had shut the water off before I came back from my run, so ultimately I had to rinse the salt off from the water that had been warmed by the sun in the hose out front. Spraying ether (?) into the stack of the backhoe while balanced on some part of that mammoth machine while he tried to get it up and running. Being excited that I had discovered some long extinct bug from when dinosaurs had once ruled the earth, to which he shook his had no, and looked at me like the city girl that I have become. Watching "Trailer Park Boys" with him. The great meals he cooked. Getting vaguely irritated with him when he didn't take the turnoff that I had suggested when we were en route to Supermommy's house. Hugging him at Supermommy's house.

That was the last time I saw him.

I don't remember what we talked about the last time I spoke to him.

I said to Michael and the Newfie today that I was amazed by the way life just keeps on going on around you. It's like I'm in this pit of confusion and despair and everyone should stop and heed what I'm going through, but things keep on moving. I keep on getting up and catching the bus and eating and running and smiling and doing dishes and bam! tomorrow will be the one week anniversary of my dad's death and I'm stunned.

Someone called my mom to tell her that the islanders are leaving flowers at the site of the accident and the island is pretty upset and they may have their own service for him which is really nice to hear.

So yeah. I really miss my dad. I miss the pitch-stained front stairs and the warped and antiquated windows. I smelled his jacket (that was mine once, but he commandeered from me, not unlike the way I stole his belt from him a few years ago) when I was in South Surrey a few days ago.

I am my father's daughter.