Missing you

What can I say? How can I explain? Should it have eased by now? Will it ever ease? How long can you miss someone? Miss their laughter? Miss their smile—especially when you know it’ll light up when you enter the room? Miss the silliness? Miss the joy in the simple things? Miss the bounce in their step? Miss the giggles and the way they blushed? Miss the whistling? Miss the love? Miss the kisses hello and the kisses good-bye and the kisses just because?

How long can I remember? The day you drove into a rain fall and then turned around to drive back under the rain cloud? The long beige overcoat with the huge pockets filled on a Saturday morning with Chuckles and Life Saver lollipops? Anchor Golfland? Monday afternoons at the lake with a packed lunch which always included plums? That twinkle in your eye? The container filled with coins? The stolen moments at the Christmas party when you got us extra chocolate milks and fries? Your funny exercises? Your stories from when you were little? Holding your hand? Handing over our Kit-Kat and Hershey bars on Halloween? Lying on your side on a Monday evening watching Little House on the Prairie and listening to your heartbeat and telling you to tell me you loved me so I could hear it straight from your heart? The way you cried when I was 16 at the airport when I went away for a summer? And me worrying how on earth you’d find your way home from the airport! All of your grand entrances into a room to declare you are the best looking man in the world? That look of pride when you saw your first grandchild, and the ten who followed her?

When do I get over that morning? That horrible feeling of foreboding while walking to the door, just knowing, just having that sense that all was wrong in my world? How can I forget making those calls? How cruel can fate be? To have your heart broken, and then to have to break four other hearts over the phone? How horrible to hear the cries on the other end of the line and not be able to comfort, or to be comforted? How cruel to have to deal with questions and make decisions when you just want to run screaming from the world? How do you block out the images—those bags aren’t meant to be seen in use. How do you deal with all that on your own? How on earth do you get over the pain?

When do I get over that you’ll never see my babies, never hold them, never kiss them, and never tell me how much they look like you? When do I get over that they’ll never know you? I truly don’t know. I know that in the future there will be a day when I don’t cry, I just don’t know when that’ll be yet. I know I’ll always talk about you—I’ll never run out of funny stories! I know I have no regrets—for I loved you and you loved me—and I know you knew that, as I have always known that. I do know that I will always miss you. I also know that I will always remember the love—for that Daddy, will always stay with me.

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