Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Six years and a few hours ago, while unpacking a load of boxes I'd just moved to this house from the place I was moving out of in Silver Spring, I got a call on my brand new cell phone, summoning me to Union Memorial Hospital. Six years ago plus or minus some fraction of an hour, I played "Lamento di Tristano" beside a body on a bed, on a guitar my then-girlfriend had brought to the hospital for me after I called her from the hospital.

I still catch myself reacting to some of the things I find on the web with, "Hey, I bet Dad would get a kick out of ... oh, right." But that's not as bad as the times I want to ask him for advice.

Time makes certain pains less acute, even less frequent. This is not an "I'm so upset, everybody hug me" post. I just wanted to mark the anniversary, and the memory. And the fact that healing doesn't mean no longer missing him, doesn't mean that memories stop having any effect. (No new insights here that haven't been said countless times by others, I know.)

Dad's voice is still on the outgoing message for the voice-mail on the phone line my youngest brother uses, so I hear that particular echo of his voice fairly often.