Daddy2

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,
you know,
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,”
he wrote.
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

more about 365 Altars here