The Corridor

Can you believe it’s nearly been one year since you passed? I know everyone says “time flies when you’re having fun” but it seems to fly when you’re going through hell as well.

A lot has changed since you left. The house inside is nearly unrecognizable, thanks to Willy and his hard work. The outside has changed a lot too, I had the pool ripped out. Now all that’s there is a bare patch of dirt with a metal fire pit but I’ll get that cleaned up this summer and looking nice. Hell even the garage has been cleaned out! I know you were concerned I would just throw most of everything away…and you were right I ended up doing that…but the garage is actually usable for the first time in two decades. You’d be insanely jealous about the shower in the master bedroom, no more moving to the perfect spot just to fit properly to wash yourself.

I spent at least two days a week this summer running around the woods, either fishing those old lakes you took me to or scouting for the upcoming hunting season. It was all I could do to keep from losing it, the closer I was to the things we did together, the closer your presence felt. I even hiked into the lake that we spread your ashes at a few times, just to be reminded of that time you and I wandered in there later in the day and didn’t come out till after sunset. Remember your GPS taking a shit on us and we couldn’t find the actual trail up the mountain? Classic. Even while getting lost, I still loved to spend time with you.

Your daughter has been having a very rough go of it lately, Dad. You-know-who is still a stupid person but he is a master manipulator. I feel like I should blame you and mom for the character traits she developed that have made it harder to leave him, but I know you and mom did the best you could with what you had. I just wish you were here, she doesn’t take me as seriously as she took you, probably because I will always just be her little brother despite the evidence to the contrary. I often wonder what you would say to her when she is obviously struggling to contain her emotions, if you would be serious and firm or gentle and supporting.

Mom is doing alright, I think losing you took awhile to finally get to her but after her last UTI got cleared up she seemed to finally get it, if you know what I’m saying. I’ve been saying she is more sane and lucid now than I have seen her in years. She recognizes now that you’re gone, and that it was you that she used to point at and say “that’s not my husband”, and I think she is suffering inside as a result of that realization. I can’t say I’m entirely sympathetic to her, she definitely deserves it after the last few days you were here, but I feel bad that she has to realize now the way her actions had to make you feel.

This brings me back to those last few days, Dad. This is the hard part for me in writing you this, because that period of time felt like I left you in the woods and drove out on my own. I just can’t help but wonder, what were your final thoughts like? Did you think of your parents who went before you, along with your brother? Did you see anyone around you? I don’t mean your daughter sleeping on the couch or Mom is the lazy chair, I mean did you see anyone that shouldn’t have been there, but just was?

What did you feel in those final moments? I was asleep downstairs but when I awoke to a phone call asking me to come up, I took a pause and felt the house as I often did for your presence. You were gone, and I just knew it. But when I picked up your hand to feel whether there was life there, just to be sure, all I could think was “you left without saying goodbye for the first time in my life, and I have no idea where you are going”. Your final moments are forever a mystery to me, and I cannot imagine a future where I don’t eternally wonder where your thoughts were as you left your body.

You have gone before us, lighting the path that one day your wife and children will follow. On that day, when our time is up, I wonder if you will be there, just beyond our vision…beckoning us to follow you. I hope you are, because just like when we walked out of the lake at night, I know I can trust you to get me home.

I miss you, old man. More than these words can reflect. I hope wherever you are, there is a nice body of water for us to catch brookies on and catch up when the time comes. I love you.

Bud