Of my father

My father leaves trails of guitar picks in his wake. Not only guitar picks, he also leaves half-drunk coffee cups with semi-circular stains below. He leaves trails of sheet music. Of post-it note notes to himself-an illegible squall of half thought-half written words or notes, often written in felt-tipped marker or even sharpie, of ping pong paddles and golf balls, fishing lures and pocket knives. In truth, the trail of a man who celebrates being alive.

If you miss his trail, however, you can sometimes catch him at the next destination. Listen for a whistle, a confident and bravado-ed salutation, or a disparaging 'you must have been out of town last Sunday because I know Henry would not have wanted to miss choir.'

Listen as he clears his throat and proceeds to sing at the top of his lungs, not for show, but because he loves to hear notes ring out.

Watch him know the name of every child under the age of 7 in church. Shake hands and know the names of every 85 year old widow or gentleman after church, as they pull him aside to banter about the music or scold him about the hymn choices. His is a blind love. He does not discriminate between the 8 year old and the 87 year old. Everyone can take a joke, everyone can shake a hand. Everyone can talk about the music.

Listen for his tired sigh as he pulls into the driveway at the end of the day. Hear him lock away the day's worries and regrets, step out of the car, and dramatically exclaim 'Dizzy, what the heck, why didn't you visit me today!' As if nothing could make him happier. As if there is no one in the world he would rather share his time with than his family.

And I know there isn't.

Fall asleep as he drinks a glass of wine and plays the guitar on the front steps. playing only for himself, sometimes the same song over and over again. To me, the most beautiful music.

Sometimes I follow the guitar picks and I am met by a man who puts his job, his exhaustion, his pain, and any inkling of personal endeavor on hold to smile at me and be glad I am there.

And in your 61st year on this earth, from across an ocean, 1600 miles away, I'm sending all my love to you- my best friend.