August 24, 2016

a letter


Padre,

I went through your things today. I opened every door and every drawer in your apartment. It felt invasive almost, but someone has to do it. Hanging in your closets, I found your Army uniform. I found your golden Lion's Club vest with the best enamel pins. I found your jackets you were awarded with for winning the hobbyist division at the races in 1993 and 1994. Even though your name is spelled wrong, I'm still going to wear them every fall and spring. 

I miss you. Everything is starting to feel real now. All I want to do is hang out in the garage with you one last time. I want to hear you pick up the phone and say "Hey Anna" with a smile in your voice. I want to go to a car show with you and do nothing but take pictures and listen to you identify cars just by looking at them. I want to ask you all the questions I never got to ask you. I want to tell you I love you and hear you say you love me back. 

I went to the cemetery tonight to say hi to you and grandma. I didn't stay long. It's hard to be there right now. The dirt is too fresh. But I see you everywhere. You're in the way the light slants perfectly at golden hour. You're in the breeze that blows through the trees and ruffles my hair to say hello. You're in every sunrise and sunset. You're in every moonrise and all of the stars. 

Padre, I miss you. Thank you for keeping watch over me. I love you to the moon and back. 

Love, Your favorite (and only) daughter

No comments:

Post a Comment