that moment.

the truth is that I can't wait for this to day to be over.  seventeen hours, forty six minutes and it will officially be over. I know that's not what I'm supposed to say. it's certainly not how I'm supposed to feel. but there it is. The second anniversary. Two years without the extraordinary man who helped to shape me into the person I am today, and the minutes are crawling by.

I want just one more day with him. one more chance to tell him how much I love him. one more chance to spoil him with lunch and listen to the stories he loved to tell. actually, I want more than one more day with him. I want all of the days, all. of. them. I know I can't have them but I want them.

and I will say it, even as I pray  that he can hear me. I will say it every day that I'm alive, I will say it because I still can. I love you, Daddy.

 For the past few years we have been going through my dad's things. a type of sifting and sorting not recommended for the faint of heart. the truth is that my dad was a great collector of a good many things. he saved everything. so, we have been trying to decide what stays, what goes. because it cannot all stay. I wish that it could, but it cannot.

so we preform our little rituals. while we are there, hopefully spring will come. we will send up our wishes, prayers and balloons as the sun is shining. we will place flowers and shed tears. we will be grateful for each other and every moment we have together and I will think, this is one of those moments. one of those good moments that people always talk about. I should maybe file it away in that brain file we all have, you know the one. Good Moments For Remembering Always.

I would be remiss if I did not mention how hard my own little circle tries to make these kind of days just a little bit softer. fresh cut tulips, watercolor paintings, wishes and prayers sent to heaven, laughter. tears. cupcakes. photos. memories. Oh Lordy! all those memories. still, the day will be wobbly, at best. I know it, they know it. what else can we do but muddle through? the best gift we give each other comes in the form of small, trembling hands held together. we turn away so we won't see each other cry, and we sit there in that pain while we say in small voices that do not even sound like our own, that we miss him.

I just really really miss my dad.

 I will tell them I am sorry I've been so grouchy and so quiet, that I will try not to be grouchy and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. and smile, if just a little. my heart will swell with love for those who remain. this is when it will happen, when the day will break open a little, just enough to let a little light in. and you know, it's true what they say about the cracks in things, that that's how the light gets in. it's true. because that's how we get through these days. that's how we'll get through those last few hours.


I will wake tomorrow morning to the sound of birds singing. We are nowhere close to being finished with the sifting and the sorting. of things, feelings and lives, but I know pink blossoms and every day miracles wait for me. and that moment. that moment when my favorite song comes on the radio and instantly, I am fifteen years old all over again. when I was just beginning to figure life out. and before I worried about things like loss and cancer. yes, that moment.

peace.