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I love that we got those moments and I will treasure them always.
I’ll admit I’m having a difficult time feeling the holiday spirit this year, but for my girls I’ll slap on a smile and I’ll sing Christmas carols with the best of them.
‘There’s my hero,'' my mother says as I enter her living room to find both her and AuntJoan each working on their own projects. Mom quilting, my aunt crocheting, the two of them could fill their own store with all the finished projects they’ve made.
“How was your shift?” She asks as I lean over to kiss her cheek. “And why didn’t you bring my sweet granddaughter to see me?”
“Haven’t even gone home yet.” My mother’s place is on the way. “I thought Chloe was here with Lay for dinner last night?”
“She was,” my ma smiles, “but I can never get enough time with our sweet angel. She keeps this Granny happy when I’m feeling down.” Her eyes filling with tears.
“You never answered me,” my mother hurries to clear away her emotions. “Was your shift good?”
“Nothing crazy, which is a good thing.” You never want to say the word quiet in a firehouse, but it was definitely that. Made for a lot of time to think, a lot of time to reflect.
“What’s troubling you?” I glance over at my aunt to find her watching me. A knowing look on her face. Immediately I look back at my mother to find she has now stopped what she was doing and is now watching me too.
“I’m good,” I swallow hard, trying to rid the burning sensation in my throat.
“And you have never been able to lie to me,” my ma smiles, reaching out her hand. I give her mine and she offers a squeeze.
“Is everything okay with you and Chloe?”
“Chloe is amazing,” I confess without pause. “I still can’t figure out how I got a girl like her.” It’s true, every single day when I look at her and Allayah I think to myself, I’m one lucky man. They are the light in my life, the good in every bad. They make me a better man.
“Because you are a good man,” my aunt interrupts my thoughts, regaining my attention. “So if it’s not Chloe then what is it?”
I realize the two of them have no intentions of letting go of my slip-up. I didn’t come here to bring anyone down, but honestly it didn’t hit me until I walked through the door and into this living room. Seeing my father’s chair in the corner with the very came blanket he always tossed over his lap wrapped over the arm.
“It just feels so empty,” my vision clouds with unshed tears and I hate that I’m falling apart. My mother doesn’t need this, not now. She lives here, she sees him in every room, hears his boots against the hardwood floor, the smell of coffee every morning because the man was up before the roosters on a daily basis.
“It does,” I glance at my mother to find she too has unshed tears in her eyes. Immediately I feel the guilt swarm my chest. “But it also feels like he’s still here with me. It’s in every little detail of this place. The chip in the countertop where he dropped the hammer, the scratches on the door frame where he tried to move out the old television stand on his own and misjudged the width.” She smiles as if she can almost picture that very day.
I don’t know if I’ve ever truly grieved the loss of my father. I know I cried, I know I sat in a room staring at nothing in particular unable to fathom he was no longer near, but I’m not sure I ever broke.
“I wish he was here to see Allayah grow up.” I confess and I guess that’s the biggest hurt of all. I want her to know my father. I want my daughter to grow up with his impact on her. He was a hard man, but he was also so involved. I imagine him to be a doting Grandfather and I can picture Allayah old enough to walk and dragging my father around by his hand.
“I don’t understand why this is all hitting me now?” I look to the floor at my feet and fight the urge to cry. I need to be stronger for my mother, I know this. “I should go.”
I start to stand and she grabs my arm, forcing me to remain where I am.
“He was so proud of you,” I let out a slow shuddering breath at her words. “I know sometimes he was unreadable and that made it hard to determine just how he felt, but one thing I can assure you of, is you were his greatest accomplishment.”
Tears fall, and I don't even try to stop them.
“You are so much like him,” I laugh and she smiles. “I know at times the two of you butted heads but that is because you were cut from the same cloth. Family was everything to him and seeing you with Chloe and Allayah I know that runs through you too.”
“And you Ma,” I tell her, our gazes lock. “You mean everything too.”
“I know this,” Aunt Joan is quietly observing us. She never had any children so when she lost her husband the only one she had left was my mother.
“You fall apart if you need to, yell, get angry, whatever you need. Then you go home to your girls and you love them like your father loved us. Don’t let a day go by that they don’t know just how much they mean to you. Even when your father and I were angry with one another he always ended the night with an I love you. Yes, the tone may have been less affectionate at times, but he never ended a day without saying those words.”
I remember those times, him pretty much yelling it out, even with his nostrils flaring and I can laugh about it now.
“We will always miss him, there will never be a day that it doesn’t hurt, but we love like he’d want us to. We lean on each other when needed because he would never want us to suffer alone.”
eight
