Maybe he is there

I spent the afternoon driving a route for our motorcycle ride on Sunday for Adamshine. Within two hours I was frustrated as the route we had planned was not safe for bikes...and I refuse to put anyone in a dangerous situation. I was driving circles trying to rewrite our route.

I came flying down a hill, irritated as it was my third "go" at trying to make it work and I was running out of options. It had been starting to rain, and I was drained.

The sun had tried to peak through...but not enough. I was feeling defeated.

As I came down the hill a James Taylor song came on. One I hadn't heard in years. I instantly felt my attitude change a little...and then I saw it.

Cascade.

I know that road like the back of my hand. I blew past it because I was trying to finish the route. I got to the next road we were supposed to turn down...and for the 40th time today...gravel. Road work. A big old NOPE in the bike world.

So I turned around. I went back to Cascade. And guys...the sun came out. It started SHINING.

I went down the road...and stopped on a bridge.

I lost it. Tears pouring.

The waterfall where I spread my father's ashes is just off of Cascade Road.

The route works through that road. It's the only one that isn't destroyed from winter plowing.

Today I was supposed to be on that road. He tried to tell me and I didn't listen.

So maybe he is there. Even when I fight it.

For the first time in any moment I can remember...I have to say thanks dad. I didn't expect that today. And it has me feeling things I had buried years ago.

The smell

It's the smell...the noise...the momentary lapse in your brain that you remember everything.

You remember the screaming and the hell. You remember all of the bad.

You don't know why the memories chose that moment to come through...but the reality is that they come back ten fold.

I was standing at the sink tonight when my dad's cologne came through. The window was open...but that was a smell I haven't experienced in over ten years. It came back STRONG. It made my heart beat a little faster, and my instant reaction was to check the back door. It made me nervous. It made me uncomfortable. It made me question everything in the house for a moment.

He's gone. Has been for years. But those triggers are very much alive.

There was no one there. Obviously nothing was wrong...the cologne was a figment of my own neurotic stress.

Never doubt someone when they talk about their triggers. You have no idea how easily a noise, smell, overall "feeling" can slam someone like a freight train.

It's been a rough few weeks.