I’ve given up on my gloves which have now been soaked by the glistening snow. It’s gotta be around here somewhere, I just know if I look hard enough that I’ll find it and hug it and kiss it and think of you again. You with your mighty caring face in mine, “You know I’ll always love you, my sweetheart.” remembering your words makes me dig even harder. Which would probably make you upset, me freezing in this snow just to find it. You’d shake your massive head at me and say, “Ah, my Sweetheart, why don’t you go inside before you get a bad case of the flu?”
But I have to find it. It’s the only thing that keeps me from going insane. The only thing I can look down at, no matter how mad or sad I am, and become content. The only thing that tells me it’ll be alright again. Someday.
I don’t want to become sad like Mamma has. She can’t even get out of bed anymore since you’ve been gone. She can’t even think and now I have to be Mamma. To cook and clean and change the twins diapers. And you know something, Papa, it ain’t right. It ain’t just or fair for me to have to give up my childhood just because you decided to keel over and die at the worst possible moment.
You know something, Papa, I reeeeally hope your happy up there because if you were than maybe I wouldn’t much mind having to do all this work. I hope you’re up there in the highest level of heaven without pain or fear or fatigue or waiting or any of that kinda sucky stuff. Because that’s really the only thing that makes this thing, this whole thing, this ordeal called death. The thought of you being happy is the only thing that makes it worth while for me. For any of us.
We all want something to cling to in times like this. Things that make us okay enough not to keel over ourselves and take a dirt nap.
And you know something, Papa– Oh, wait! Something’s glittering in the snow. Something silver and full of love and memories. Mamma says you gave it to me when I was four, I don’t remember it, but I reckon it had to be something special since I kept it all these years. And you know I’m terrible at keepin’ things. It’s the only steady thing in my life now that you’re gone. But why am I burdening you with this, you’re supposed to be without burden. Without pain.
It’s like you told me when I was a small gal, small enough for you to pick me up and twirl me like a helicopter high in the air so that no one could touch me or hurt me. Just marvel in my beauty and whisper in awe. But its like you told me when I didn’t want to go to grampa’s funeral, for I wasn’t ready. It’s like you told me, “Now’s not the time to be selfish.”
You were always so wise, Papa. You always knew what to say when the curious questions of youth were presented to you. And now, looking at the picture in this old locket, covered in snow and dripping wet. And now, looking at it, I see that you look wise in this picture too, Papa. Even through the tears I see it. Even through it all I can look and see you.