Dad

June 18, 2017

(excerpt from a book)

This was posted for the first time last year on the day before Father's Day, 2016.

This Father's Day seems like a good time to post it again, as the book is hopefully only 30 days from returning to the editor for what we hope are final edits.  And I spent the morning with my dad.  And he's still all the things a dad should be.

 

 

From the floor at the side of the bed I reached for my phone on the nightstand and quickly flipped it open.  I tried frantically to find his name in the list, but all of the letters were blurred by the impossible tears that filled my eyes and then spilled over, dripping onto my white capris pants and leaving little round dots of heartache.

 

Finally I found it.  I pushed.  I waited.  He answered.

 

"Dad," I said through choking sobs.

 

"Oh sweetheart," he said.  "What can I do?  Tell me what to do."

 

I just cried.  I just cried and my dad sighed and his sigh shook and I knew he was trying to hold back his own tears.  He was trying to hold back the tears that spring so easily to his eyes any time his children are hurting.  

 

I was hurting.  

 

I was hurting and this time it was really bad.  It was really bad for him too.

 

"I'll wait," he told me, and the sound of his voice wrapped all around me.  It covered me up.

 

"Take your time, babe," my dad said.  "I'm here."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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