Stasha and I have in common one of the worst things that two people possibly can. We each lost our dad when we were small girls.
I have liked Stasha from the first moment I met her. She is kind and genuine, funny and compassionate. For every light-hearted story she has to share, she has another story that makes you stop what you’re doing and truly think.
Thank you, Stasha, for sharing your father with us. Thank you for being you.
Your writing…your story…just lovely.
Tied to Him–by Stasha
I pull one of his ties from the closet.
I wrap it around my neck. I feel connected to him.
I run my fingers along the blue diagonal pattern of his tie, caress the memories of a man.
Memories of a man I love.
I brush the cool silkiness of the fabric against my cheek.
Looking in the mirror, I see some of him in me. See how we are different yet the same.
Two people cut from the same cloth.
So many memories of a time not long enough.
He always wore a white button down shirt, a tie and dress slacks.
He was not a ‘business man’ but was part owner of a business.
He was proud that he owned a business and liked to dress the part.
He was half owner of a butcher shop.
His was not an easy job. Working with the public never is.
He worked hard to make a decent living to support his wife and children.
He came home in the evenings, tie undone and hanging around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.
Loosening his tie was his way to let the work day go so he could enjoy time with his family.
He always walked in with a smile on his face no matter what kind of day he had. Always happy to see his family.
He was always glad to be home.
Looking in the mirror, I see some of him in me.
I hold the tie in my hands.
I think of the immense love he had for us.
I think of how he laughed and cried and lived while wearing this tie.
I think of the day on which this tie was severed.
I look at myself in the mirror with his tie draped around my neck. Such a small piece of clothing that links me to this man.
Links the man he was to the woman that I have become.
I work to support my family. A hard, thankless job.
I, like him, look forward to the end of day when everything winds down and time can be spent with my family.
I learned so much from him. Even though my memories are faded and few.
I caress his tie as I re-hang it in the closet.
Dad died when I was nine.
I miss him.
Such a gorgeous post. Just one of many.