The visit was an accident. A first for her that happened on a mild winter day, walking hand in hand with me as she asked where we were going.
Where we were going, sweet little girl, is to see where your Dad’s Memorial Bench sits… we’re going because as I watch you run around the playground, I feel him watching you and I hear him telling me to bring you to him.
He’s been waiting for you. And he wanted to be near the playground so that he could watch you run and play. Did you know that he thought about this moment long before he died?
And so we walked hand in hand.
And I stood there as she traced the engraved letters of ‘Father’ and listened to her as she remarked to him, “You have an “r” in your name just like I do.”
And we talked about her Guardian Angel and she talked about dreaming of him and how he sits with her but doesn’t speak.
And as we left, I asked her if she wanted to say anything or ask me anything?
And she climbed up onto his bench, and said as loud as her little voice could muster, “I love you Daddyyyyyyy!”
Baby Bear, I just needed to tell you how proud I am of you. If only everyone could have a heart with the capacity for love that yours holds. If only.
And I needed to tell you that you made Wayne a very happy and very proud Daddy that day. Somehow, for all the views he has in Heaven, I don’t think he has ever seen you so up close or shine so bright as you did for him this day.
This still is crippling. I wait for the time when the ‘firsts’ of things give away to something other than this.
I would give anything to know how he was feeling. What he was thinking. There is no getting used to eternal silence.