I hear the echo of his living sounds everywhere.
When I make the coffee in the morning, I hear him grinding the beans, filling the water, brewing the pot, before the rest of the house wakes.
When I go for a bike ride, I hear him wheeling his lightweight carbon-fiber road bike down the hallway for his daily, morning ride.
When I leave for work in the morning I hear the echo of him getting home from his rides, making a p.b. & j, and starting up his 8 cylinder, 385 horse power, Ford F150 with…. what ever the heck he used to ramble off when talking about his truck. I can hear the echoed sounds of him saying all those truck specs too quickly for any of us to catch all the things he was listing off!
The echo of the lawn mower, the weed whacker, his boot steps.
The echo of his “Hello my hunny-bunchy! And how is my wonderful daughter?”, when I would call him on the phone from a far-off adventure.
When I am exploring and enjoying the local mountains of Malibu, Ojai, Big Bear… I hear the echo of our conversations about being out in these places we love. About engaging in ‘radical action.’
Surfing Hueneme I hear the echo of his hollers, “Woo Hoo!” and “Woah!” and “coming through!” as he would snake a wave from anyone and everyone.
The strongest echo is heard at the end of the day. The sounds of his kitchen, making a delicious warm meal. He’d say to me, “Hey, kid. Fetch us a bottle of red.” Sitting at the counter, sounds of the hot pan, vent fan, and chatter about our days and life and things we found funny. I hear him asking, as he asked every person every time before we ate, “How hungry are you?”, so he could properly dish out his artful meal.
I still hear you everywhere, Dad, and I miss you like hell.