Waves

They say it comes over you in waves, and They're right.



(Some day I think I would like to meet They. Or maybe not.)



It comes over me when I see Sara riding the rocking horse that Dad gave her. He never got to see her play on it. It comes over me as I go through the stacks and stacks of Medicare envelopes, the ones he never bothered to open because they always said "This Is Not A Bill." It comes over me when I find the little bag of Oreos we kept in his room, in case he wanted one. The last thing he ever ate was an Oreo. It comes over me when I say prayers with Sara at night and see over the top of her head the picture of him and me dancing at my wedding, my favorite picture of him in the world. It comes over me when we pray to Dahd to please tell Bamma and Bampa that we still love them and miss them. It comes over me when out of nowhere I imagine the two of them lying there side by side, forever in that small silent darkness.



It came over me when I saw this picture, the last one he ever took, one of only two from Christmas Day.














Yep, waves.