My heart hurts.

The words, they don't come.

The pictures, I look at them often. Each one more precious than the next.

My heart, it hurts.

My head spins.

My breathing slows.

I need to push through. The rapid heartbeats, the deep breaths. Puffy and swollen eyes.

Each one of my tops stained with salty tears.

Lights flicker. Bulbs pop. A ball rolls into the kitchen.

Solitaire starts itself on my mom's computer.

The stash of cookies dwindles.

Cakes get thrown away.

Stale sprinkles fill my mouth, jelly filling, blueberry pie.

I look to find fullness. My heart has a hole in it that needs to be gone.

Chocolate cake and dried fruit and mints and grilled cheese sandwiches.

The matzo ball soup, the noodle kugel. Things for a Shiva call I can't bring myself to eat.

A Brooklyn bagel, what I longed for each trip home. What they brought me every trip south.

Dozens upon dozens and I couldn't have a single one.

They just aren't quite the same without my daddy smiling from across the kitchen table.

I don't know where to begin but I just need to pour out some words. These might not be the right ones, but they are mine. All mine.

And so, I share them. And then, I cry.

But it's okay. Because he loved me. And I love him.

A whole bunch, forever and always.

Love you, Daddy.

Thank you for always making me smile, laugh, and ensuring that I never felt a lack of love for even a moment.

* I wrote this a few days ago and have been trying to insert a picture since then. My iPad is not cooperating, but much of the technology surrounding my mom and I this week has not been, so I hold off, and promise that pictures will follow soon. Perhaps my iPad knows I am not truly ready? We shall see ...

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