My Dad's Keys

Everyone’s keys are important to them. Everyone’s keys are a glimpse into their lives and personalities. My keys are kind of noisy—I have about 6 keys that I use, and then I have 2 bottle openers, a watermelon slice with a happy face, a Beavis key cap that I use as a keychain, an a few other small things on it. Fuzzy has a lot of keys, and a lot of loyalty/ discount swipe cards on his keys. Growing up, my mom had a million keychains on her keys, linked together with many rings, that trailed it seemed down to the floorboard of the car when she was driving. A lot of them were round and acrylic and one of them had a bunch of crazy colors and writing that said something like “These keys belong to an overworked, overdrawn, overwrought, overlooked but still basically fun person.” My dad would always tell her to take some of the rings off the keychain, cause he was afraid that it was weighing down the ignition of the car.

I went to Vicksburg a few weekends ago to go visit with my mom. We went to the Christmas Market in Jackson, we went to the park. On Sunday, Fuzzy went out of town, so it was just me and Trish all day. We did some cleaning in her apartment. We moved mom into her current place a few years ago, not knowing what her life was going to be like, there, so now that she is settled, I took a look around and decided that somethings weren’t needed. There were baskets of stuff that hadn’t been touched since the move, so I thought we should go through them. They were all dusty, and mostly included things that weren’t needed—old notes I’d written her, some old receipts, manuals for equipment that no one would ever need. At the bottom of one basket, I noticed that there were some keys. One set of them, I showed mom, and she didn’t know what they were, so I threw them away. I picked up the other set, and once I had them in my hands, I had an instant physical reaction.

“Oh, here are Dad’s keys.”

She said she was wondering where they were. They were so familiar. My dad’s keys were iconic to him. He always had them, and if we were at home, he always kept them in the same places. They were very simple—only keys. There was always the red one. I have no idea how many he used regularly—he had several jobs in his lifetime. But the weight of the keys, the feel of them in my hands—they brought back all these floods of emotions and I instantly started weeping. I was surprised at how much an inanimate object could make me so emotional. I looked at mom, who was also teary eyed, and we just sort of nodded at each other.

My dad passed away six years ago today. Six years. This time of year is always hard, even when I try for it not to be. I get a little more emotional, I have a little less patience. I cry at everything. This weekend we’ve been in Texas with Fuzzy’s family, and the Christmas parade made me cry, as did the man who took his two parents out for ice cream the other night when we were in the ice cream parlor. As did almost everything else this weekend.  My family always loved Christmas, and I still do, even though it is harder now than it used to be. Our family has changed, things have gotten harder, and now we are spread all over the world. But I am so thankful for the life that I have had, and the ways that my parents and brother have helped shape who I am. I strive to be a giving and nice person to everyone, and I think that trait is one I got from old Dave. My dad was pure love. I will always treasure the love and laughter and warmth and cats and laughter and music and love that the Reids shared.

I miss you, Daddy.

I had SnoBiz just yesterday. In his memory.