My head rests gently against the side left door of my family’s 1979 Ford station wagon as I sleep on the long car ride up to Mad River in Vermont. Beside me sleep my sisters’ Elizabeth and Camille. In the tippy back, my other two siblings, Melissa and Anthony, also sleep. It’s surprising that we all fit with the ski bags, suitcases and poles.
My dad slides the driver side window down just a crack. The frigid air sneaks into our warm car and I momentarily wake. “Dad, close the window. It’s cold,” a few of us screech. My mom is talking quietly to my Dad. Softly in the background, I hear the symphony music that my Dad is so fond of.
It’s “his” music that has brought me back to this car ride. It’s a few days after Christmas 2011 and we are visiting my Father-in-law, Richard, and his wife Brenda at their home in Pennsylvania. Everyone around me is getting ready for bed as I sit here and write.
Earlier my father-in-law made a facial expression that reminded me so much of my Dad. Then later when we were playing Rummy 500, he turned on a television station that happened to feature “my Dad’s" music – the music that my Dad always played on our long car rides up to Vermont. If I had just let my eyes close, I could have easily returned to that time in the 1970’s.
Now after our card game has finished I can do that. I’ve ripped out a piece of paper from the pad we used to keep score and begin to write. As I do, it is as if I’ve entered a dream state as those physically around me grow hazy and I travel back in time.
We finally pull into the parking spaces beside the North Jersey Whiz Skier’s Lodge at Mad River Glen – a lodge that my father and some of his friends started in the 1960s. The bright spot lights above the parking area combined with the swoosh of cold air through opened car doors jolt us awake. “Suzanne, grab a bag,” my mom calls to me as I start to wander toward the front door empty handed. The snow squeaks under our feet as we walk – a good sign that they’ve gotten some fresh snow lately. Once inside the foyer, my Dad greets some familiar faces.
It’s so nice to hear his voice again,” I think as I write. His smile lights up his face. “Dad, it’s so good to see you again!” I say without any words. No words are needed to communicate with my Dad since he died two years and three Christmases ago. This experience of writing the memory and actually bringing it forward to the present is new for me – at least as it relates to my Dad as I do this often with my son, Christopher.
Have you ever tried to write down a memory as it appears to you? We all have connections that trigger memories that can transport us back in time. Music is a popular trigger. The next time you remember something, consider jotting it down on paper – what you recall will likely be more vivid. It’s also a good way to help retain memories.
Sitting at the dinner table at the Silver Dollar in upstate New York – a good half way point for dinner – I smile as my Dad smiles and say again, “Dad it’s sooo good to see you.”