Sitting on my screened porch this morning. I am joined by 27 birdsongs, so far…3 kinds of Warblers, Titmice, 4 kinds of Woodpeckers, Blackbirds, Wrens, Hawks, Crows, Cardinals, Nuthatches, Towhees, Gnatcatchers, Cowbirds, 2 kinds of Sparrows, Vireos, Finches, Blue Jays, Robins, Thrush, Phoebes, Catbirds and Chickadees. I breathe in the cool morning air. Deep into my lungs. The humidity is down and I am grateful, at least until this afternoon when it heats back up. The bird choir melodies are attempting to bring me out of my melancholy. I’m missing Dad. It seems the birds miss him, too. We are commiserating his absence together.

It’s not out of the blue really. It is Father’s Day weekend, after all. I have felt it coming all week.

• In Gainesville, I stopped at one of the many restaurants we used to frequent. It wasn’t the same without him there, but still the memory was sweet.
• I read to children at the Botanical Garden, spent a lot of time in the children’s garden there. I sat on Grandpa’s bench, I call it. A space dedicated to kids and their grandparents that was set up in his memory.
• I walked among the flowers.
• Saw an older gentleman and his camera zooming in on a butterfly.
• The tiger lilies are in bloom along the roadsides, as is the Queen Anne’s lace. All the wildflowers take me back to my childhood walks with Dad, in the woods identifying them, notating where they were located, their color and description.
• Beautiful red Cardinals are crossing my path daily.

My love of nature is planted deeply, rooted in my memories. It seems the hole in my heart is healing as of late. The tearing of the scar tissue that comes on special days like Father’s Day is a reminder that grief still comes along to remind me of the great love I was privileged to be a part of.

Things I miss most:

• His silliness.
• His laugh.
• His love for Mom.
• His type A over-the-top-ness.
• The way he cared for all of us.
• His hardheadedness…which I inherited.
• His tenderness.
• Our lunches.
• Our dinners.
• Our talks on our drives to places.
• His big heart.
• His generosity, with his time, his resources, his love.
• His stories.
• His photos.
• His love for taking them and sharing them.
• His bulldogness, and determination.
• His inability to sit still.
• Him closing the rings on his watch.
• His fierce independence.
• His sparkle.
• His mischief.
• His ability to remember everyone’s name.
• His desire to “fix” everything.
• His enormous behind-the-scenes impact on so many lives.
• Our daily phone calls.
• His support of our pottery and writing.
• Our shared caregiving…the 3 musketeers.
• His great capacity to love.

I drive his car now. When I first got it, it was odd to drive it without him in it. I got a wildflower plate on the front, something to give it personality. I put a butterfly and a hummingbird sticker on the back window, so Mom and Dad follow me wherever I go.  The shift from his car to my car has happened in my head now. It feels like mine. My pottery stuff is in the back where his photography stuff used to be stored. Still on days like this one, I sit where he sat and I think about him. And I miss him.