last night there was a ghost in my car

NPR is pretty much my constant travel companion when I'm on the road, unless I've got my iPod hooked up in the car. I'm lucky in that our local campus station, WKMS, has a signal that I'm able to pick up at almost all of my schools, and even luckier that once I've traveled far enough out of our region that there are other college stations with whom I can replace WKMS. Much of my traveling is done during the day, which means that much of the programming I listen to is news-based, with some special interest pieces thrown in for local flavor.

I always consider myself lucky when I get to travel at night, especially during the 7-9 time frame because that means I get to listen to World Cafe with host David Dye. That's not an optimal time to listen to the radio at home, because we're caught up in all the "finishing up supper-getting baths-reading before bed-make sure everything's ready for school" business of our evenings. However, I really enjoy the programming during these two hours, so I consider it a bonus that makes the evening travel worthwhile when it happens.

Last night, Dye's featured guest was Harper Simon, son of musician Paul Simon. Dye interviewed Simon, who was funny (I thought) in a self-deprecating sort of way and amused me with his discussions of his snobby views on songwriting while he was at Berkley. He played three songs, and the minute the first one started, I got chill bumps up and down my arms.

I was immediately struck by the similarities between Harper and his father, but more than that, I heard definite similarities between him and Bob Dylan. My favorite song of the three he performed was, by far, "Wishes and Stars" and as I listened, I glanced over to the empty passenger seat and I swear I could feel my dad sitting there.

Yesterday was his birthday. He would've been 54; he died almost ten years ago (in May) of a massive heart attack. I miss him very much around the holidays; Halloween was one of his favorites, and he would just go overboard with Christmas. As I grew older, the joy was in watching how almost childlike he would become during the holiday season. I think perhaps because Christmas and the holidays were sparse for him as a child, that made him enjoy just how much there was to do and see and give as he grew older.

I really have a lot of difficulty in imagining what my dad would be like now at 54, and I can't even begin to picture him at 64 or 74 or 84. Part of me thinks that perhaps he would look and act and sound similar to his own father or one of his uncles, but that doesn't seem quite right to me.

Yet, try as I might, in my head I can never imagine him any older than he was when he died -- a too-young 44. I can't imagine talking to him about my just-earned Master's Degree, or the work I do with Gear Up, or my photography and scrapbooking and travel. I don't mean that we never talked, because we did; it's just that I can't picture him as he would be now, at 54, if we were able to have these conversations. In my head, he's still 44 -- with his black hair turning to silver at the temples, his skin darkened from working outdoors his whole life, and that familiar smirk on his face -- and I think that's probably how he'll always be.

And as I drove through the Land Between the Lakes last night, with this song playing in the speakers and the ghost of him filling that empty seat next to me, it didn't really matter that I couldn't picture him at 54 or 64 or 74. He was there, right there with me, and that was all that mattered. The radio continued to play a mix of songs he enjoyed, plus new ones that I think he would've liked a lot, and I drove in silence, filled up with sadness and love.

Comments

[kerry]

What a lovely post Audrey, my eyes are filling with tears. I don't know what I would do if I lost my Dad. He is my rock. It sounds like you have some great memories of him. So young! It mmust be hard sometimes.

[Lori Potts]

This is lovely and I am so glad you had that moment.

[Arianna Trapani]

I understand you. My dad didn't died young, but he loved life so much that he was always ageless to me. I feel often music or even words that made me turn around searching for him. I sometimes think that I can imagine what he would tell me about a topic that occupies my mind but that's not really true, he would surprise me most of time.
It's a bittersweet feeling, but sweet still it's the key world.
Ari