The Woodshop

I'm heading to Maine in a couple weeks to help my mom work through what's left of my dad's stuff. Primarily I'm going to disassemble his wood shop. Dad and I didn't see eye to eye very often and we had vastly different worldviews, but the one place we always connected was woodworking. The shop is my happy place as it was for him. The act of creating and power tools was the part of our vend diagram where we overlapped. Thinking about being in his shop and taking it apart is already emotional for me. It's probably the most tangible reality I'll have to his actually being gone.

I've been in my shop a good bit recently, at least on the weekends. I wear his old hat and have conversations with him about what I'm doing. At times it feels really crazy, but it also feels like the closest I've ever been to him. I know he's not physically there, but I can't help but believe he can hear me. I do wish he was around still to see what I'm working on and give me feedback in his way that was deeply critical but also full of pride. I think I'm getting better at least in part because I feel him there.

A few of his creations still hold court in my house. They exist as relics of our shared love of woodworking and horcruxes of the relationship we always wanted, but never had. I miss him more now than when he first passed, maybe that's because the persistent hurt of our relationship has faded and maybe it's because I miss my woodworking sounding board. In truth it's probably both. I hope and pray that the act of dismantling his shop brings some closure to this part of my life. I don't think that I'll stop talking to him in the shop, but I hope that I can feel a little more whole because of it.