Impossible to Forget

My dad left his earthly body on this date 20 years ago. I don’t think he actually “died” though. I swear I watched him pass through a portal like in the movies. Wherever he was going was welcoming and peaceful, and someone special was clearly waiting on the other side. It seemed my dad was about to go on to do a great deal of living with the souls that have the answers. I know wherever he was heading there was a whole lot of love. It's comforting to have that memory of Dad. I feel fortunate to have been present for it. But sometimes I fear that the more everyday-type memories are fading, and I don’t like the feeling of clinging to ones I alone can conjure. So, in my stillness this morning, I decided to ask Dad what HE wants me to remember. It made sense to do since I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want me worried about the adequacy of my memories. I lay quiet for a while, then the memory came.

It was of the goodnight back pat he used to do while putting my siblings and me to bed. He'd say quietly, One, two, three, four, five, six, se–ven. All good Bonzos go to hea-ven. When they get there, they repeat. Bonzo Biehl is Oh! So sweet. Can’t be beat And faa-aa-aa-aa-aast a-sleep! When he'd get to the” faa–aa–aa–aa–aa-ast a-sleep” part, he’d pat in a quick, staccato rhythm. I remember giggling in anticipation of that part. I remember opening my mouth and generating a sort of elongated “ah” sound so I could experience a funny vibration in my throat as he patted. I remember wanting to bounce on the bed after my goodnight pats. (I’m pretty sure that’s why he nicknamed me Bonzo, after the monkey on TV.) What I don’t remember is wanting to fall asleep after those pats. I’m not sure that was my dad’s end goal either.

Tomorrow in the stillness I might ask him about that. Today I’ll remember he’s impossible to forget. Love,

Molly