I see a bottle of wine.
I hear a clip of a football game.
I taste an apple.
I smell fried onions.
All of these simple moments are triggers of memories of my father. In all honesty, I am not seeking out these memories or looking for meaning in events that really have little to no real significance in relation to my father. There are just these triggers. I have so many triggers that it is impossible to get through the day without encountering something that reminds me of my father.
There is a decorative copper salmon in our dining room. Dad used to joke that it was our singing fish.
The powder room has all brass fixtures. Dad was half of the decision making team for that. I need to rip off the wall paper, but whatever I choose has to go with brass fixtures.
I noticed last night that the faucet in the kitchen looks worn. He changed it five years ago.
In a conversation with Phill I realized that I am lucky to have these triggers. He confessed, that although he loved his father and was close to him, he doesn't have these triggers. His father wasn't as involved in his life as mine was in mine.
I think this means that I am progressing through my grief. I feel lucky to have many things that remind me of my father eventhough, at this time, they still bring tears to my eyes.