It's been 20 years...

11 years would seem like a long time to get to know someone. 11 years. That's how old I was when my dad died. 11 years was a brief time. I barely got to know the person I hear stories and memories about from family, friends, and even strangers; the man posed in black and white photos.

It's been 20 years since today. Time heals all wounds some say. It doesn't. And now, 20 years later, I know this. I love my dad more than the little girl 20 years ago knew possible; death could never take that away. I miss him. I have many, many memories of him. Welcoming him home from work. Sunday's. Him sitting in front of the t.v. Bellow's. His 'uku bite. Too much cabbage in the hamburger and cabbage. Cleaning the yard. Him on the sidelines of the volleyball court. Him letting me work the gears in the Blazer...making the sound of a racing car. There are many memories that which have slipped away. What it feels like to be held by him. The sound of his voice. The smell of his pomade. I would never exchange the brief time with him for any other. If a man should die, he can live again. And very soon, death, tears, and pain will be no more.