Tears in Old Town

I was in an antique shop in Old Town a few days ago, and there on the shelf was an old red leather medical dictionary--just like the one my dad used to read when I was young. I remember watching him pour over those pages as if it was a novel. I found myself crying right there in the used book section. It's been almost two months since he passed away--it seems like yesterday. Every detail of that moment is etched into my memory--the look on Justin's face as he handed me the phone (the same look that has so often humbled me to tears as I realize the man he is), Ellie's sweet hugs and "why you sad, mom?", the telling look on Abbie's face as she tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, the instant wave of regret that swept through me for opportunities lost, the confusing mixture of joy for his release and sadness for my girls' loss. For me, I can't be sad that he is gone. I know he is happy, and I am more than happy for him. The things I do feel sad about are the memories my kids will never have of him; the photo I was prompted to take of my girls with grandpa a week before his death, but will never have because I couldn't be bothered to get the camera from the car; the sadness of questions I never had the clarity or maturity to ask him until the dementia had set in, and it was too late. I long to see him again...but even more than the longing to see him, is the longing to know him in a way this earthly life would not allow. I know there is more to him than I am capable of understanding right now. What a great day that will be, when the veil is lifted, and I will know my father. I feel deep gratitude for the gifts he gave me in life, and pray--plead--that I might be able to share them with my babies, as he did with me.