Today I want to tell the terrible truth about yesterday. The entire day of November 2, I did not consciously remember even once what day it was. On November 1st, I remembered what day it would be tomorrow. Even on October 31, I knew yesterday was coming.
I just couldn’t remember that for five years, from yesterday onwards, Dad isn’t here anymore. Now I feel awful, like my brain was caked with some kind of insulation keeping out this one plain, precious fact. I think my circuits are too overloaded for one more sadness.
I could have done something yesterday for my Dad, something from inside. Maybe I did anyway. With Dad, my remaining inner connection takes an uncertain form, a slowly rising silence like a question I can’t quite ask, yet somehow an answer comes. It’s different from the flashes of intuition that clearly unfold from Mom – so specific, so real, they are like electric shocks.
The botanic kaleidoscope at Olbrich Gardens would have amused my Dad wonderfully. He was not that grown-up of a kid, in the end – a blessing and a curse I have definitely inherited. When I picture him standing with me there at the scope, watching the copper kettle of desiccated blossoms rotate through the faceted reflections, I see us about the same age – 8 or 9 or so, taking turns watching the wonders rise and fall.