It’s been a while since I cried over my dad. Well, since the anniversary of his death, May 2nd. But, before that, I had gotten to the point where I mostly just felt his presence every once in a while and acknowledged it gratefully.
Time to start the countdown over again for number of days since I cried about Dad.
Lola is finishing up her final novel study for school this year. Her group has been reading a book about a girl who gets a magic pen. Whenever she writes short stories with this pen, they eventually come true. It takes her a while to figure it out, and once she thinks she knows what is going on, she tests it out by writing things she fervently wishes would come true. When they don’t happen immediately, she tosses the pen away in disgust. Unfortunately, her wish eventually does come true and, by then, she has lost the pen forever.
Anyway, Lola’s teacher asked each of the kids to pretend they had this magical pen and write their own wish. After dinner last night, Lola showed me hers:
“Dear Papa,
I wish you would come back alive VERY SOON. I will have dreams about seeing you
soon. I have gotten very lonely without you and I miss when you and I can sit together
and look at the chickens sitting in your kitchen. You probably miss your cats. I LOVE you
and I’ll see you soon (I Hope).
Much Love,
Lola”
It brought me to my knees. They did used to sit together at my dad’s kitchen table and catalog the different kinds of chickens and roosters my dad’s wife had collected and displayed throughout the kitchen. They used to crack each other up. When I remember the way my father used to look at my girls, I absolutely cave in. A giant sinkhole opens up in the middle of me and swallows everything from the inside out. He had this amused, tender, perfectly whole love for them plastered all over his face. I know that it is this that Lola misses the most. Me, too.
