My mother has been dead 4 years today.

I can still hear her laughter. I can still see her smile. I remember her touch. Her voice when she yelled, sang, whispered and just talked.

In one of my last conversations with her, I promised her that I would be alright in life. I often wonder how well I have kept that promise. Things happen every day that I wonder what she would have thought of the situation. I wonder how events in my life would have been affected if she were still alive. How she would have loved watching Johnny growing. How proud she would have been about my promotion at work. What she would have thought about my surgery. What she would have thought of the “young lady” and me.

My father has been gone for 25 years and I do think the same about him sometimes. Mostly when it has to do with Johnny and the ‘young lady”. What would it have been like to go out drinking with my father? How would his face have looked the first time he held his grandson? What would it have felt like to have him come visit me in my own house for the first time? What we he would have looked like at my wedding(s)? What would my last conversation with him have been like?

I envy my sisters for having known both of them longer than I did. They knew them when they were young and more active. They knew them as children and adults. My father, especially, was a different person when I was growing up than the one my sisters knew. He suffered two major strokes by the time I was 10 and it affected his personality. It wasn’t a Jeckyl and Hide kind of thing, but he was slightly altered from the person he had been. Right before I moved from RI I had tried getting together with one of his oldest friends and ask what my father was like when he was in his 20’s. I regret not having met with that friend; yet, anyways. Maybe pouring this out like this will encourage me to make a phone call at least.

Luckily, I had Johnny younger than my parents had me. I plan on having those drinks with him. Going places with him. Being there for him. Seeing things happen in his life that my parents missed. Or, I guess, those at which I missed having them.