Today, I was in pain (my tooth) and stressed out and I reached for my phone to call my dad, of all people. It’s been four years and it’s still a knee jerk reaction to call him. When will that end? Do I really want it to? Sometimes I call my grandparents when I know they won’t answer just so I can hear his voice on the answering machine. It’s silly but it helps because I’m afraid I’ll start to forget. I don’t have anyone to help me remember.

Anyway, there is this series of books by Dean Koontz about a character named Odd Thomas. I bought Dad a copy of the first book for Christmas one year, a copy I probably still have, and he was so happy because it was the perfect gift for him. He LOVED it! It’s one of my favorites as well. The irony that it is about a man who can see and communicate with dead people is not lost on me, either.

The year Dad died, the second book came out, entitled Forever Odd. He would have loved it too. Dean Koontz was always one of his favorite writers, along with Louis L’Amour. One of my clearest memories of my dad is seeing him read a book by Koontz while stretched out on the couch. We would both spend hours in the same room, just reading, and then we’d talk about our books to each other and swap when we were done. I can’t remember a single time that Dad ever told me I was too young or too silly for a book. If I put it down, he didn’t say a word, just offered me another one.

I never realized what a big impact he had on my love for reading. My mother helped teach me how to read when I was three (going on four) and I’ve always been grateful. (Considering that she wasn’t entirely fluent in English at the time, I consider it quite the impressive feat!) I wish I could thank my father but I can thank my mother, so, thank you Mom!

I’m not sure what I was really going to write about. I lost my point in my tangent. I guess I really just wanted to say how much I thought about Dad today and how much I miss him. His birthday is in a month and for the first year since he died, I’ll be capable of going to his grave site to lay flowers…but I don’t think I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready.

I don’t know. I’m going to bed. My heart hurts enough for one night.