Author Adelaide Green

I found myself looking at my dads caringbridge today.

My mom deleted his Facebook and all the photos and information from it.

Sometimes I don’t know where to go to find him.

Before he got sick he had looked so different.

6’2, 250 lbs, dark brown hair, blue eyes swirling with oceans.

The last two years he was down to 150, his hair had fallen out from chemo and what came back was white, he couldn’t walk due to his tumor so he was in a wheel chair. He had looked so small.

Photos from Jim from my youth give me a ping in my stomach.

I long to see him.

To hear his voice.

To say “you’ve gotta be fuckin kidding me.” In his New York accent.

When he spoke of his youth it sounded like a movie.

Growing up in the projects of Staten Island, selling real estate for the mob.

Telling good  stories over a glass of wine and a big meal was his love language, it was how he said I love you to his family.

Since he’s passed we don’t do big dinners, we don’t sit and tell stories. Without him to lead we are lost.

And now more than ever I want to talk to him but I can’t seem to find him anywhere.

Not in old photos, Not in old memories. He seems to be lost. Misplaced.

I wish I could hear him say “hey sis” one more time. “It’ll be okay kiddo.” “I love you sis.”

When he had passed I laid on his chest for longer than I even remember.

He had been so fragile for so long I couldn’t touch him for months.

I was the only one who choose to lay on him. I cradled myself in his arms. His chest was still warm, boney.

He didn’t smell like the blue polo cologne he wore anymore. His muscles and fat has all but gone.

But still I laid my head on his chest, still gently.

Wishing for a heart beat. Wishing for just one thud.

I miss him every day but more so now than ever, because I can’t seem to find him anymore.