Father's day blues
I miss Papa here in the land of the living. And I feel that he is enjoying watching me make a grand fool of myself over struggles, decisions big and small, my feeble attempts at domesticity, and restraint in holding back tears that sometimes would threaten to overflow once in a great while when my heart remembers him. I can almost feel him holding out his hand should I lean back, or trip, or giving me that look that can still make me freeze and think - uh-oh, what did I do/or not do now? And I miss holding his soft hand that would shoo me away if I tried to overdo my caregiver role. I miss looking into those angel eyes that, during his last days, had no reflection of me, as he was having a hard time focusing and recognizing. Those eyes that at times clouded with confusion on who was there, where was he, and what was he doing, or what was I doing hovering over him. Those eyes that lit up if he recognized your voice as the sides creased with laugh lines if you were witty...