Not Quite Yet
She sat down on the carpet, legs crossed, searching through the VHS tapes stacked three-deep in the cabinet.
“No, that’s not it. It’s one of those old Kodak tapes he used to buy. I think it’s in the wrong case. Ahh, here it is! Now where did that other one get to? Oh, right here!”
She hands me two tapes, both almost as old as I am. I flip them over so I can read their labels. The first one is a printout attached with packing tape, the second is written in his handwriting. They read “Palumbo Family Album”, and “Tony’s 20th Anniversary”, respectively. I was five years old when they were both filmed.
She stands up, hugs me. “I know, I miss your father too.” I can tell she’s holding back a tear. I utter a sheepish thank you. The tear makes a run for her cheek.
The drive home is both too slow and too fast. It’s been so long since I last saw my dad alive, I don’t even remember what his voice sounded like. I don’t remember his mannerisms, I barely recall his constant whistling. I need to remember. “You’ll be ok”, I tell myself over & over again in my head.
I walk inside, go to the living room, turn on the VCR and TV. A flip of a loose quarter decides which video I’ll watch first. Anniversary tape it is. I put it in the VCR, turn the volume up, and grab the box of tissues out of the bathroom.
And I can’t bring myself to push the Play button.
That was last night. I tried again tonight, with the same results. I guess I’m just not ready yet to feel that type of pain again. Maybe sometime soon, but not yet.