Dad

When i think of my dad i think of the way he smelled. That wouldnt normally be strange. Lots of people remember their fathers aftershave. But my dad seldom wore aftershave. He smelled like Lucky Strike cigarettes and paint thinner. My dad was a graphic artist, or as he called himself, "an old sign man". He designed and painted signs for over 60 years. He helped develop techniques that are used commonly in the industry now. He was also a cartoonist and illustrator. I was so proud of him. But he didnt always know it. We werent close. We never had father-daughter talks. I didnt run to meet him when he came home from work. He spent his time at home alone in the den in his lazy boy, reading voraciously and watching the news. He seemed distant to me. He got up at 5 in the morning and went to bed at 8 in the evening. He hadnt always been that way. But the handsome soldier whod been so in love with the pretty hillbilly waitress had turned into a tired old man who didnt want to come home at night. He wasnt in love with her anymore. He just wanted to be left alone. So we did. I used to try to talk to him. I was artistic, i wanted to go to art school. I wanted to learn at his feet. But he was never interested. He used to talk about his coworkers kids and how smart and talented they were. But i never heard him brag about me or my brothers or sister. I wanted him to be proud of me. But i dont know if he was. Then i found out he was cheating on my mother. I remember my mother putting me in the car late one night and going out to look for him. When she saw his car in front of a womans house, she hit the gas and turfed the womans yard. She said it was an accident. I was 12. My dad moved out after that. My parents separated for 6 weeks but they reconciled. When i say reconciled i mean they lived under the same roof. But my mom became guarded, suspicious, and sick. And my dad became withdrawn, secretive, and depressed. I was angry with him for the way he treated my mother. I didnt speak to him for nearly 3 yrs. He developed enphysema while i was living in Nashville. He and my mother had separated again but she and i and my sister were with him when he died. It took 3 days. He wanted no treatment. He wanted to die. They gave him morphine and we waited. The last day i whispered in his ear that i loved him and forgave him. He was not awake. But i think hed been waiting for that. He died that evening.
I was driving home from work one day a couple of years ago. Something made me think of my dad. When i did, my car was suddenly filled with the smell of cigarettes and paint thinner. Thats the truth.