I have no idea what he really did for work. I knew not of his past or what he did before marrying mum. I knew of his cats and his van, I knew of the silver Passat and the in-between one. I knew of the shit mobile and his few times of driving the Audi. I knew of his laugh and his stupid jokes. I knew of his love of old cars and his pure dedication to teaching me all he knew. I knew of the countless hours we spent at the dining room table, you trying to teach me math while I cried for not understanding - What I would give to go back to that for one day.
I knew not if he was proud of me - if he is proud of me. I never heard him say it. I think he was but I'm not sure. I know he worried for me, endlessly. While I was compared to my sister, he would do his best for me. Even when drunk he knew it was me, he knew I was trying to help. loosing my best friend at 21 years of age (his 71 years) was hard. Its not gotten easier. Its quiet.
I miss his laugh, his smile, his complaints, the screaming matches, the hours of crying at the dinner table, his records, star gate: Atlantis, his stupid Sci-Fi shows, I miss his quips and his cheering, I miss his face, I miss him. Despite the times he grabbed my arm too hard or scared the shit out of me, I really miss him. He'd be turning 74 this year. It never gets easier does it?