Pockets

I remember reaching into my father’s jacket pockets, hoping to find some memory. Something he touched. Something that was his. A scrap of paper with his handwriting. A meticiulously folded gum wrapper. I remember after he was gone, flipping through his wallet time and time again. His wallet was always with him. Day in and day out. And the fact that it existed after he was gone, always upset me a little bit. The idea that the things he owned, things that were personal, still existed after he was gone, it just didn’t make sense. It was so surreal. Those things fascinated and terrified me and eventually, we boxed them up and put them away. It’s too hard to live in the in between and time moves on.

I woke up this morning knowing that I would have to move quick to beat the rain. I dawdeled some. It was a late night before and a slow morning to follow. I dropped my daughter off at the busstop and then returned home for my morning walk. There had been some raindrops but not enough to discourage me. I don’t mind getting wet, but I don’t like to worry about my phone and my ipod being ruined. I looked through the closet for my husband’s jacket. Unlike mine, it truly is waterproof. It was meant to go sailing in, so a half an hour in drizzle or even downpour wouldn’t hurt it.

I grabbed my phone and my ipod and my inhaler. Deep pockets come in handy when you travel with an arsenal. I reached my hands into my pockets and suddenly was overwhelmed with a sense of a déjà vu. Pulling the business card out of the pocket I recognized it as the salesman who sold us our last vehicle. It was raining that day.

The most unbelievably crisp and clear understanding of what it would be like washed over me. It wasn’t terror or hopelessness or fear that soaked me, it was pure simple longing. Wanting something so badly you know you’ll never have again. And although he was only 20 minutes away at work, I missed him so badly right then. That clarity you have when the details no longer matter. The understanding that pulls you from the perspective of participant to observer. It was so easy to see him, to feel him. In one instant, everything changed. Everything changed because I changed. Sometimes simple changes are the most profound ones, especially the everyday ones. Something as simple, as personal, as intimate, as pulling his jacket on and sliding my hands into his pockets, made that kind of change in me. And even as it changed me, time moved on