today is my daddy’s birthday,
and he’s not here to celebrate.
because he died way, way, way too early,
my daddy did, and
i spend part of every single day missing him,
wishing i could tuck my hand in his big, rough hand with the pudgy fingers.
wishing i could feel him scoop me up in his arms,
biting his bottom lip as though he needed to do that
to keep from hugging me with the full force of his love
and breaking my ribs.
what i wouldn’t give
to hear him call me doll or hon,
to see his shoulders reach up
to touch his ears
as he cackled in laughter.
i’d love to hear him tell me
his stories just one more time,
to take him to breakfast
or anywhere, for that matter.
i still have the note,
a handwritten thank you note
(not something Daddy was known for)
thanking me for taking him
to a new restaurant just down the road
for breakfast biscuits.
“This has been the best day of my life,”
the best day of his life.
and all i did was take him out for a biscuit.
something i wish i’d done much more often.
~~ ::: ~~
today’s altar: reminisce
Feeling the sadness I’ve kept at bay for months. Sounds crazy now after that last horrendously, long and emotion filled year but I sure would like to walk out into the kitchen and see Dad drinking a cup of coffee and doing a crossworkd puzzle. I think Sunday morning is the hardest, maybe because the puzzle took all day.
Your family altars remind me of an old pine farm table I saw in an antique store (do farm and antique even fit in the same sentence?) once. I think it invited me to sit and stay awhile. And to listen to the stories of the meals it held,and the people whose lives always brought them back to it 3 times a day.
Lovely. I agree with your dad — most of life’s best moments involve biscuits. 🙂