January 2012
It’s been about three months since daddy died. Some days, it seems like so long ago, other days, it feels like yesterday. Every now and then, it doesn’t seem like it happened at all. I miss him so much it hurts. The tears still sting, my heart still races, and it’s hard to breathe. I try to tell myself it’s only in the quiet moments that I let myself feel it all. It’s funny because I think I have control of the “quiet moments” but there are sudden and unexpected reminders of dad. It happens during the hustle and bustle of the day when I see a picture or hear a song or smell his cologne and I pause and tear up and try to breathe. But no matter how much I try to hold back the tears, they come and they sting and no matter how much I try to breathe, my chest hurts from the heavy breathes and I can hear the pounding of my heart echo loudly in my ears.
There are times that I that I think about dad and I smile or laugh, usually, it is courtesy of my kids. They keep Papa’s memory alive. Olivia moved into his room. Her nutcracker collection keeps his military flag company. She wanted to keep “him” in the room, so we left the flag. Julia has yet to take off Papa’s oversized Longhorn jacket. She says he keeps her warm. David says he wishes Papa could see him growing up. Daniel, oh Daniel, he chatters “Papa” all day. He says good-bye to his picture as he passes it on the refrigerator. He waves to him up in heaven and he still sprays Papa’s cologne all over himself just like the two of them would do anytime they leave the house. The scent lingers in the air, just like the memories.