This morning, Junior Soprano handed me a copy of last weeks Tri-County News. It's got a little spread about your funeral last week. I'd forgotten about the pagers - how all the firemen turned them on at the same time and they paged out for you to rest in peace.
Yesterday we held a mini-service for you at work. It was wonderful. Dr. Y and Dr. G were there. Dr. G noted some things about the way you worked that I would have yelled at you for, and would still love to have the chance to yell at you for. Your dad and Judy were there. They said little bro is very angry and that the kids still don't understand; they still expect you to walk in the door any minute. Other things are becoming ugly; people want your money...your car...your bike. I don't even know if it still even works. Why are they doing this? Do they just want those memories? Why would they do this over money? Judy said she remembered the day you came back from the middle East and I was there and we couldn't let go of each other. She asked me if they'd ever done anything to offend you. I told her that you were your dad. I wanted to tell her the truth but I didn't feel right about it. She asked me if you believed in god. I was honest but then I told her that I still felt you were hanging out because there's no way you'd miss all these cute girls fussing over you.
My mind is getting shallow with memories. There are too many to write down but too few to have enough to recall every day to get through this. I keep searching for them...but they are lost in the synapses and ganglia and lobes of my brain. I still remember the QRS complex and stirring the coffee and you laughing at my fascination with Angela Anaconda and taking a nap in the living room on that really hot day and the really bad omelet and your animal noises and the doggy scratch and how you used to say "issues," like "isss-yews," and the 2 closets you wrecked because you had so much stuff. How you'd line the kitchen counters with Dr. Pepper cans so I had no counter space and then when you finally rinsed them out you'd leave them upside-down in the sink so I'd have no sink space. How many tons of frozen pizza, chicken strips, taquitos and Fat Tire we consumed. How you hated tomatoes so much that if anything you ordered came with tomatoes, you (Mr. Nice Guy) would send it back. You were so picky.
I went to see you on Saturday, but your place wasn't marked and I couldn't differentiate all the new graves from each other. It was raining. I locked my keys in my car and had to walk all the way home from the cemetary and have Cheech drive me to pick up my car. I laughed at the irony and my bad luck. It made me regret not going to the burial, and then even worse yesterday when Judy told me I had been missed.
I miss you, Bob 2.