The rain is making meditative circles in the puddles. The trees are lush and the songbirds high in their branches sing contentedly. As I walk, I’m thinking about my dad and how smooth his face is after he shaves. He always smells so good—like cinnamon. I miss his rough hand holding mine tight. The last time I saw my dad face-to-face we were in the NICU with my newborn daughter. He kissed the top of Hope’s sweet head and told her he loved her. That was seven years ago. It’s been too long.
Searching through old photos, I’m surprised just how few there are of my dad and me. Regrettably, the ones I do have are faded, at an odd angle, or blurred. No perfect shot to capture our relationship. No words to do this either. ~