The Movie of Memories I'm Watching on My First Birthday After My Father's Death

One of my fondest memories of my dad is being in elementary school, and going to the local video store to rent VHS tapes. He wasn’t much for grandiose quality time spent together, but watching movies (especially R-rated horror movies my mom despised) was one thing we loved doing together, because we didn’t have to talk or get emotional or think about things.

We could escape into an alternate world by just watching what was on the screen.

Fast forward to today, my birthday, the day I was born, and all I can think about is his sudden death from lung cancer just 10 months ago. This time, in my mind, I’m watching a movie of his last few days of life in a Colorado hospital.

I’m watching him fall asleep after taking pain meds, his skinny legs sitting on top of the bed sheets.

I’m hearing him crunch on ice chips because that was the only thing he could swallow at the time.

I’m feeling the slight pressure from his hand holding mine, but only when he has the strength to do it.

I’m seeing him take his last breath.

Then there is silence, and the credits roll at the end of the movie memory. They’re full of random things, like the names of the other people in the hospital room when he passed, the initials of the states we have lived in, the recipes to his favorite foods and the lyrics to Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.”

And there’s a timestamp at the very end: 1:20 p.m. August 29, 2016.

When you watch an actual movie, it’s easy to stop, to rewind to events you want to watch again, and to fast forward through those you want to forget. But when you’re watching a movie in your mind, it’s hard to do any of those things because there is no magic button to push.

Your mind wanders through memories, the good and bad, and you just have to accept it.

Just like I have to accept that today, I’m supposed to be celebrating the day I was born, but all I can think about is the day he died.

The one thing I do find comfort in is knowing that now, wherever he is, he’s making his own movie. He can skip past the scenes full of pain and heartache, and reshoot any that make him and others laugh.

Those are the scenes I want to one day watch.

Those are the scenes that make a day worth celebrating.

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