Today . . .

is the day. Seven years ago today. In a way, it doesn't seem that long ago because I still feel the pain of it. Not all the time, though.

We don't celebrate this day, but we mark it. We live through it, keep busy, run our errands, complete our tasks--or try to. All the while our thoughts may be elsewhere, wrapped in memories, not only of that day seven years ago but of Wayne on other days, in other settings. At least I hope we do. I think we ought to.

He had brown hair, nice hair, and a natural part on the right side. He was tall, like Andrew and Richard, 6'3" about, but with a slender, runner's build, like Wayne and Paul. He spoke Spanish and pretty good English, too. He taught high school math one year in Middleton and one semester in Caldwell. He was smarter than he knew, like all of his children.

His eyes were big and his eyebrows thick, his ears close in to his head. His nose looked like his mother's nose, only straighter. Ann's nose is like his. So is Wayne's. He had a good smile. Lola's smile is like his, I think. He was a handsome man. Are we not a family of handsome men and beautiful women? Oh yes. Thank your dad.

In winter he almost always wore his coat in the house. Remember? I mean our house and I mean like every day, all winter, and I mean zipped up. And if we would go to visit someone, he might keep his coat on the whole time, like he wasn't planning to stay long, which may have been true also.

He could play "Lord, Dismiss Us With Thy Blessings" on the piano, his one and only pianistic accomplishment, as I recall. He gave up the saxophone before junior high. I don't think he liked to practice.

He had faults.

His wit was quick, like Alyce--like all his children. He liked a joke. He made up many. He could make us all laugh and sometimes groan at what he thought was funny.

He was a cautious driver. He liked to sing. He liked to watch football on TV. He liked to play basketball.

I remember his handwriting. I got letters from him when he was in South America for two and a half years. Those were good days, when a letter would come.

He had a mole on the second toe of his right foot. I think. It troubles me that I can't remember for sure.

His hands were big, like Richard's, his calves thin, like Paul's. He was not hairy, as Wayne is not hairy. He could remember facts and figures. So can Alyce and Andrew and Ann. He was honest, and so are his children.

He was often overwhelmed by the strength of his own emotions and did not know how to show his feelings. Who is that like? I think of Lola at Christmastime, what she said to all of us. How real and honest and perhaps hard to do. I hope her dad heard it. I think he too would have bought it, Aaron.

He was fundamentally good and kind. Who is that like?

He lived within himself, as we all do, but I like to think I knew him well.