The Month of February

It's been almost a year. The closer it gets to February 23rd, the more often come the choking tears. I fight them back because they start at the most inopportune times. Sometimes I know what triggers them, other times they seem to spring unexpectedly.

Bruce and I were driving up the parkway to drop off papers for our tax accountant the other day. Watching the trees, buildings and landmarks that Pete had watched as I drove him along this route to doctor visits, treatments and hospitals filled my mind with wondering what he had been thinking on those many trips, and the tears came, as they are coming now.

I've been packing for our move. There are tools, so many tools, and I'm having trouble trying to figure out how to pack them. Some belonged to my dad, some are mine and some are Pete's. I picked up a pair of pliers. My dad's initials, JT, were deeply scratched into the handle. Then a pair of nose pliers with cushioned handles, part of a set that belonged to Pete. A set of ring pliers that Pete had bought me. Some people cherish a china figurine or a photo. For me, each tool I pick up holds a wealth of memories and using them to build, fix or create is a link to my dad and Pete. At least that's what it feels like to me.

I really haven't worked with any tools for quite some time. I'm packing them up so it will be some time in the future when I'll be able to start again. I'm looking forward to the peace it brings me. Working with those tools is a way for me to communicate with my dad and my son, to feel their presence, to feel their love.