More Time

For some reason I had the memory of a year pop into my mind.

1988

I was living in Connecticut, working with my Dad.

And then another stray thought.

When you look back and remember days gone by with a person who is no longer here you often think:

“Man, I wish I had more time with him.”

My Dad was an early riser. He would sit at the kitchen table, fill up the ashtray, drink coffee and play solitaire.

He’d shuffle for a long time.

He did a lot of thinking in the early mornings, and like all of his kids, he planned out his day.

Mostly, he had the meals all set up. He’d work, and he’d try to make sure that everyone around him was comfortable.

I was the only guy living with him in those days. 

All week I worked as a construction laborer so on Saturday mornings I wanted to sleep a little.

I heard the cards being shuffled.

Then a loud sigh.

“I guess I have to take the garbage out,” he said, loud enough for me to hear in my warm bed.

I put my pillow over my head and tried to get back to sleep.

I slept long enough until he lost his game.

Then he shuffled. 

And shuffled.

And shuffled.

Long sigh.

“Going to take out the garbage. It’s my turn.”

He was almost in a sing-song voice.

I jumped up out of bed wearing just my tighty-whities. Like Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad, I emerged from the bedroom and walked by the table and straight to the garbage can.

Dad was laughing.

I grabbed the bag, went down the stairs and across the lot at the apartment complex.

I tossed the bag in and looked up to the window where Dad was standing.

Laughing.

I headed back to my bedroom.

“Anything else before I go back to sleep?”

1988.

33 years ago.

Just a simple moment in time.

Leaving me thinking about wanting to see that laughing face again.

We talked about that walk across the parking lot a few times through the years.

Dad was only 51 back then. I was just 23.

A blink of an eye.

And all the time in between is gone.

Life is so short…

…when stray thoughts enter your mind.