Knowing I would never find him in one piece here again, I started a never-ending puzzle called Dad.
The stranger who walked into the restaurant had his soft shiny forehead with the profound forehead rows, the cab driver had his all-knowing, humble and innocent gaze that for some reason always reminded me of Bambi, my uncle had his deep voice with the lovely scratch right where it belonged, my friend had his shaving brush, its handle made of hematite and Sephora had his perfume, a smell I could hardly describe...
I carefully chose and collected all those pieces over the past decade, handpicked each of them like flowers, held them as strong as I could and replaced in time some by other, more accurate ones, to create a wonderful bouquet.
I wanted to create a new photograph, the best I could possibly create, of my Loved One, dated with the present, of one who since long ago belonged to the past. And each bittersweet time when I met a new piece of him, each time when I thought I had just collected another piece of the puzzle called Dad, I was reminded that none of those pieces would ever belong to me or come to life. There were merely borrowed for a blink of an eye yet my eyes stole their glimpse forever.
A friend of mine once said that the yearning for the one you love and lost would never diminish and certainly not disappear. He was right.
I must miss my Dad every day because every now and then the snowballs that I would shape of an insatiable longing for him and that I would gently throw behind my back, on my way to nowhere, would turn into an invisible avalanche suddenly overwhelming me from behind and carrying me away... My only salvation in these moments is to melt the avalanche from the inside in order to break free which turns all the snow into all the tears I have, streaming down my face, as rapid and uncontrollable as only an avalanche can be. My heart shrinks to a size beyond my imagination and breathing is nearly impossible. Crushed by the heavy pain and trying to hold myself, the pressure in my head rises and causes a terrible headache. It is the wind that forces itself through my open mouth into my lungs, grabbing the space it is entitled to, that makes me breathe again.
No matter where I am, in my head I start running home as quickly as I can and on my way I think of all the things I possess. I go through every item, every purchase, every piece of paper or fabric. All I need is one thing that was his, one thing that can soothe my pain and save me - for now.
Back at home, in the house we used to live together, I used to run to the bathroom and smell his shaving brush, I would snuggle his sweater or lay my head on his favorite pillow - inhale as slowly and deeply as I could and exhale only as little as necessary...But time carries away not only the people, but also their smells.
In my new home there is no trace of his existence simply because he didn't move in with me. He was not even granted a visit because Life said so and Life didn't grant me an objection. There is nothing left to smell, nothing to touch.
When I reach the peak of my desperation it hits me out of nowhere and I suddenly remember that there will always be one thing that will be with me as long as I live - at all times and at all places:
I would always have my reflection in the mirror. I would stand there, drenched in tears, my eyes burning, red and swollen, giving my best to force my eyes to open and take a good close look at myself because somewhere there, in my reflection, must be a piece of him. A piece that I could not only see, but also touch. A piece that was alive, here and now. One that not even time, the best thief of all, could steal from me and no blow of destiny could ever separate from me.
He was truly a marvelous man and it took me all those years to understand that I would not need or find more words or better words to describe him in order to paint the picture that would do his soul justice. All I needed to do is to describe my longing for him.
I am the daughter of a father who would have given her life to save his.
More than 10 years have passed and this never changed.
