I Miss You

When you lose the most important man in your life, the grief just never goes away. Some days it's just a vibration that drones in the back of your mind, just below the surface of your consciousness. As you carry on with life, nobody knows the difference, but the grief comes along for the ride, adding a touch of gray to a sunny day. It's insignificant as a hangnail--irritating and sometimes painful, but mostly ignorable. Some days the grief is actually dormant, giving you just a moment of peace, a respite from your underlying sadness, a brief return to "your old self." Some days, though, it lies raw and angry on the surface of your skin; you flinch to the touch. You ache to talk to him again, to hear his voice and beg his wisdom. These days come along when you are burning to tell him something. Today is one of those days. On days like today, I pull out Granddaddy's Bible just to see the notes in the margins. Sometimes a particular phrase will stick with me and give me pause to read a passage or two. It's not my daily quiet time; I just like to see his handwriting and remember how much Daddy's looked like his. It's about as close as I can get to him now. There's so much I need to tell him.