“Please don’t worry about me Dad. Worry about your other kids if you have to. But not me, I’m really okay.”
My dad came to visit me yesterday and spent the night as he does a few times each year for the past few years. Each visit seems to find us sitting at my dining room table for hours chatting, catching up, and confessing. Telling each other things we’d never dare tell anyone else! With plenty of laughter thrown in. And I’d be half-truthing if I didn’t include that the occasional tear has been shed as well.
Last night was no different. Somewhere during our late night reminiscing, looking through an old photo album, and sipping our cups of water he mentioned he wished I still had my mom. (who was my best friend and passed away several years prior). “It’s okay Dad, I wouldn’t fit in that space anymore anyway. I wouldn’t go back even if I could.” He looked a bit surprised, and frankly I was surprised too. I went on to explain though that I wasn’t saying I don’t miss her and don’t want to call her on the phone so often still, that I don’t long for her advice and friendship, her companionship and even her approval. Because to all of those things, I really do.
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