The Child Is Father Of The Man

Eight years ago today my father died.

It’s always tough, but with each anniversary my sense of loss has changed. The other night I looked at his picture and cried, but the heartache, vast for a moment, passed.

I remember pushing my toy chest into his room as a child. I’d sell him a stuffed animal or Matchbox car and he’d pay me in hugs. The chest was heavy and the wheels were thin, but I forged ahead.

My father, I like to think, is asleep behind a series of doors in the middle of an endless hallway. Perhaps one day he’ll wake from a dream to find I’ve arrived, and recognize the child in me.

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2 Comments

Filed under Life

2 responses to “The Child Is Father Of The Man

  1. Margo Snoad

    Your father cherished you. I miss him too. Love, Mom

    Like

  2. Tom Trebswether

    My dad passed away in 1971. You never forget them.

    Like

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