My 10 Tears of Remembering

Ten years ago, on July 23, 2003, the darkest day of my life happened. That was the night I got the call from my mother that my dad had died.

It's been 10 years. Damn. I hate even thinking it's been longer than one year.

I'm going to do my best not to attempt stunning prose (because I will fail miserably). I'm not writing about this as some form of therapy (because I never went the therapy route and never wanted to ... welcome to my life of eternal internalization). No, I'm just going to try to share and relive some memories on the 23rd of each month this year because by the time July 23 rolls around, I want to try and think of something, anything, other than that horrible day that ruined me in so many ways.

I don't have a set schedule of topics. I was trying last week to be witty and come up with a set post idea (Sports, UK, food, movies, etc) but I found that either the topics overlap or in some cases (Sports) my fingers would likely fall off before I finished writing it. Instead I'm just going to throw out some stuff and see what sticks. I'll try and stick to a narrative or theme if I can, but there's just no telling where a particular entry may wander to.

As this is the initial setup post, I'll briefly talk about my flight of fancy or lunacy, depending on how you take it.

About six years ago I jotted down some notes (now unfortunately lost) in what I'd hoped would be an outline of a memoir of sorts. It would have been, more or less, just about me and my dad. The peg would be that I would run a marathon, and I'd recall past memories of my dad while interspersing bits about how insanely stupid it is for me to try and run a full marathon thinking that this was a sound reason to think I could live just one day longer than him.

He was 53, and I retain this "think about it every day" fear that I'm going to shuffle off this mortal coil at the same age. The men in my family lineage haven't always stuck around very long (Campbell and Duffy women, however, are epic long-lasters, so my sister is in luck). This fear has shaped a lot of decisions that have affected not only myself but with the wife and so on. For one thing, I sure as shit go to the doctor a lot more often, and read more articles about coronary health than I probably should.

Shocking no one, sports was a big connector for my dad and I. So unless I can conjure up some golf-related way of honoring him (I've had thoughts but other than shooting in the 70s I can't think of much else), I thought maybe something like running a marathon would be cool. It would mean me getting on a better path to healthiness and also conquer something that feels scary (it's 26 freaking miles of running nonstop) and satisfying (did I mention its 26 freaking miles?) all at the same time. To document my prep for such a thing and actually do it and blend that in with memories of my dad could be something worthwhile, if even for myself.

I have no talent for writing long form, but I figured at worst I knew a couple people who are stronger writers than me who could help if it ever came to fruition. But then I lost the outline and haven't tried again since. Hell, the content may only fill up 50 pages so it could make a nice novella for someone to use as kindling when the zombie apocalypse arrives.

And with that, I'll close out this initial post, but there are at least 11 more to come. If I'm smart, I'll sprinkle a few smaller ones in here and there just for good measure. And speaking of good measure, I'll let you all in on classic memory. My dad loved the movie Scrooged. Sure, everyone loves it, but he loved it above all else for the ending. I'm a bit of a scrooge when it comes to birthdays and holidays. He'd sit and rewind and re-watch the final 10 minutes more often than I can count. He showed a hard exterior but inside he was a hopeless sap just like his son.

Maybe one day I'll take a long vacation and try to rediscover that outline. Maybe I'll do it just for the sake of myself, to try and remember as much as I can so I don't forget things. It's the least I could do for someone I so desperately have missed for the last 10 years.