I saw Dad at the gym earlier this week. From behind. He was on the stair master. Worn white t-shirt, strong broad shoulders, wispy gray hair with just that bit of thinning so you could see his cute pink scalp a bit at the back there, and a bit of middle age paunch showing from round the sides. Oh, and yes he was quite sweaty of course, and I could see his glasses from that vantage point too. And the enthusiasm, the determination in climbing those stairs up and up and up... tireless - full of life.
The flash of recognition. The brief smile on my face. What's he doing here?!
Fleeting. Half a second it flickered. Maybe less but it lingered after I realized the cruel joke of it. This was no Houston. I felt no exalted sense of Dad's omnipresence. No... just the caustic sting of knowing I had not seen him and would not see him ever.
A few days later he was hanging around again. Not in that way... not actually seeing him but feeling him. I was climbing up Arctic Valley again. This time with both my kids - and I kept remembering Dad climbing up there with them too. I was turning to my left... there was the snow bank where he had a snow ball fight with them. Here was where he sat looking at God's creation with his grandchildren. How could this happen? Life is more fleeting than we realize, I guess. My strongest champion laid out long before I suspected he would slow down. At least he haunts my waking dreams, at times visits me at rest, and I hope lives in me in small measure.
