It’s been 5 months, yesterday, since my dad died. I didn’t remember this fact until I spoke to my mom today. I called to wish her “bon voyage”. She’s leaving for Colombia tomorrow. I also wanted to her about last night.
Just as I was dozing off to sleep I heard my dad call my name. I heard it only once but it was clearly my dad. It only startled me because one of the last things my dad and I talked about before passing was my kids. I asked him to project P, and any other children we have, once he arrived “up there”. He nodded yes. I can handle just about anything but losing a child or having an ill child is something I know I wouldn’t emotionally survive. So, when I heard my dad I got up to check on P. I put my hand on her chest and a finger under her nose to make sure her breath was ok. Everything was fine of course.
I miss my dad. I miss him often. Yesterday when P swam so well I really wanted to hear his voice and tell him how amazing his grand daughter did. I can’t call him….EVER, and that’s really hitting home.
The photo above was taken when P was 11 months old, around the time of my dad’s 62nd birthday.