Father. Brother. Friend.
I keep thinking about dirty glasses. Your daughter once told me that, of the many ways you showed your love, that cleaning her glasses was of her most beloved ones.
Meeting someone’s family puts your knowing of them in perspective. There may be much of their life you haven’t been present for. Yet here is someone who was there and whose very being informs the human you hold dear. You notice features here and there indicative of times during the splicing of cells when the universe said copy and paste— the round of their cheeks, the downturn of their eye, the color of their hair, and their profile in silhouette. There’s the personality and ways of doing from the build of their laugh to the way they love a dog. I was presented with the person who raised my friend through the rough and tumble of the parent and child experience. A pound of feathers and a pound of lead, both just doing their best through the fortunate mess of growing up.
I imagine a softer version of my friend— with shallower smile lines and a lighter heart— walking in with smudged lenses and dad saying I love you through the soap, water, and towel magic that delivered a fresh perspective.
