I have vanishingly few photos of my father. I used to think that was because it was he who wielded the Instamatic, as head of our nuclear family But now I wonder if he feared its power to pin him down on the page like a butterfly preserved In the framed Polaroid that sits on my desk he stands in the New Mexico sun Hands on hips, a dark shadow mimicking his posture in ghostly fashion He looks impossibly young, in white t-shirt and khakis On his wedding day, he wore Navy whites, jaunty & nervous both beside his bride, my mom They married in La Jolla at Mary Star of the Sea Church where — I found much later — a sea of stars on a brilliant blue background watches over all of us wayward sailors from behind the altar Earlier he sits onboard the USS Valley Forge he wears a kimono acquired in Japan and sports a mustache looking debonair or trying to He died when I was not quite 17 done in by cigarettes and a damaged heart leaving us adrift but his spirit sometimes visits my dreams as if to preserve a palpable memory to show he was here, made a difference I remember him driving down the highway near Santa Fe I’m probably 11 and he’s explaining that it’s important to eat every bit of the apple a reminder of his Depression youth Even the bitter seeds, the slower the better to savor every molecule.
Your longing is palpable and the details of your memories are twinges that both warm and prickle, and cause yet more yearning. On a day like today, this is good thing.
This one's really beautiful, Chris.
Just lovely. The end...oh so beautiful.
Your longing is palpable and the details of your memories are twinges that both warm and prickle, and cause yet more yearning. On a day like today, this is good thing.
This is fine, fine writing.
I also eat the whole apple.
Thanks, James.
Wow - this is so touching! 💕