Two weeks ago today, at almost the exact time, I stood at the very spot that this picture was taken – in a park I often pass on my way home from work. It’s on a hill and is very beautiful.

Two weeks ago today, we were deeper into winter and the sky was not playful or pink. It was dark and full of twinkly unknowns and glimmery shadows. It was dark, and I sobbed. I only stood because I had someone to hold me. I was not ready to hear the saddest words I thought I could never process. I am still trying.

In another two weeks the sky will be even brighter at that time of night and winter will be faster asleep under the slow creeping blanket of spring. And I will have had another fortnight of memory to digest and smile. Time really doesn’t give you a choice, you either keep smiling or not.

If nothing else, the only good I can see out of all of this battery-draining, awful-numbing loss is the realization that I want to write. The whirlwind of emotions in the entire experience set me adrift in a place, where at times the only peace and solace I found, was in its documentation. I found stability in laying the words out in order, instead of having them bouncing around, behind my eyes and making mud out of my thoughts. Perhaps this has been the impetus for me to finally acknowledge that, I love words. I wake up to them attacking me, flapping tiny velvety wings. “Wake up, we want to dance.”

One of the things that froze and splintered my heart the most was when Trudy cried that her boys will not remember him. I told her that I am going to write them books about the Story of Gramps; his adventures are too grand and too many not to be penned. Books that will make his grand-babies know and remember, even if they don’t. They will. I don’t want anyone to forget him, even people he never met and the lives he never touched.

If you have any stories about him or thoughts, or words, winks, nods, smiles to share. Email them to me (allofthecannons@gmail.com) and I promise he will never be forgotten. It is an easy promise to vow to not let the impossible happen. How could he ever be forgotten?

Perhaps I will start another blog of my own; where I can devote full-time dedication to making fun of Trudy… or examining the direct correlation between the sound of a child screaming and me wanting to pour another glass of wine… or ligers, nobody talks about ligers enough. Or Trudy posing with ligers, the possibilities are totally endless, but I digress…

In any event, I would like to extend the deepest most honest thank you, to you all for sharing this journey with us so far. I might not update this blog everyday and with as much frequency, but I am going to write it all down, and press it then to paper into a book to read, read, read. Because this is all for my dad, it always was and always will be.

I love you, dad.