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.