Year 3…

On March 31st, it’ll be 3 years. When I turn the calendar to March my chest tightens. I keep myself busy. With three babes, it’s easy to do.

Spring Break. St Patty’s Day. Events. Visitors. Soccer. Dinners. I tend to jam this month with as much as I possibly can. If I keep moving, I don’t have time to feel the pain of you not being here.

I worry that they’ll forget you. The way you looked. The sound of your voice. Your Old Spice cologne. I close my eyes to make sure you are still with me.

They won’t get a chance to know you. I tell them  you loved poetry. Your first language was Spanish. You made the best chicken and rice soup. Big breakfasts were your thing (and now our thing). You supplied me with homemade tamales from your co-workers, when I was in college (we eat tamales all the time). You had perfect olive skin. All three were born with jet black hair, like yours.

i carry your heart, in my heart.

It’s my way of keeping you alive.

 

DAD

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