Let's talk about hats. My dad wore wore hat everywhere. In face, he would say that he felt naked without his hat on. As far back as I can remember he always wore snapbacks and he only wore them after they had been placed on a coffee can(the Maxwell House coffee can was the perfect size) and starched to perfection. He only took his hat off in the house, at church, or when he entered a building. You didn't smash his hat, sit on it- even if by accident, knock it off his head, or touch it unless he asked you to grab it for him. He did not like his hat to lose its shape.

Some of the hats he owned stick out to me more than others. There were hats with the Caterpillar emblem on them, Stihl hats- one orange and one black, A red, white, and blue Mack Truck hat- my favorite, and a Napa Auto Parts hat. The Napa hat was rather new to the collection, but he wore it quite a bit the last couple years of his life.

I work in a grocery store deli, so I see hundreds of people a week. The question remains, why did the appearance of a Napa hat atop an older man's head make me cry while I was slicing turkey this evening? It's because I remembered my dad's Napa hat. Then that led me to remember a day I will never forget.

I had stayed the night at my dad's house. At this point I knew my dad wouldn't be with us much longer. I tried to spend as much time with him as I could and I knew that he loved it when one of his kids stayed the night. I woke up to breakfast on the stove and a note on the table. My dad was always good about leaving a note telling us where he was if he left before we got up. The gist of the note was that he had to run into town to get something for his truck. However, that wasn't the part of the note that stuck out to me. The part that stuck out to me was a simple sentence that said "Thanks for staying. I always enjoy your company. Love, Dad" Upon reading those words I cried. I cried because I knew that the days of receiving notes like that, simple, but full of a father's love for his daughter, were coming to an end. Shortly after my dad's death, I had that simple sentence tattooed on my leg in memory of my dad.

When my dad returned home I tried so hard to hide my tears from him. I didn't want to explain to him again that I was scared of him dying. He took me out for lunch. Then with much sadness I had to explain to him that it was time for me to return to my mom's house so I could get ready for work at the Wendy's where I worked at the time. He called me later just because he wanted to hear my voice again.

I loved my dad so much it hurt. Memories of him don't make me cry as much as they used to, but every once in a while I will wait on a customer at the deli that reminds me so much of him that I have to excuse myself and cry for a small moment. My only advice to someone who has the same experiences it to let the tears come, but dwell on them. As much as I hate crying, it is a healthy emotion. Talk to someone and share those memories. Talking is also very healthy. Share about the loved ones that you have lost to anyone that will listen. Maybe one day I will smile when I see an older man wearing a Napa hat.