It's the Little Things

A carton of Neapolitan ice cream, an semi-empty room where a bed should be, the view of a front yard or back patio, a dinning room table that feels empty now, a recliner in a living room that now remains empty, a picture on a wall that once meant so much.

It's these little things that remind me of the emptiness I feel inside where I once stood whole. It's the little things that remind me that the father I loved so much is no longer here.

I know from experience that this pain and loss I feel will ease, but never really go away. I have been through this before so many years ago with the loss of my mother, but I was much younger then and I had my father to turn to.

Now who do I turn to? I keep all these feelings bottled up within, because I know others are feeling the loss as well, especially my youngest brother. He always counted on our father to be there when he needed him, rather it was just to talk or sit by his bedside from a accident that almost took my brother's life. Dad wore himself out so much so he couldn't even speak.

That was the kind of man he was, unselfish in every way.

I looked through his belongings and saw how little he did have. He gave everything to us. He made sure we had a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs. He put his life on the line in two wars and served over twenty eight years in the military - Navy and Army combined.

He taught us how to stand on our own two feet, but never failed to catch us when we fail.

It's the little things that I miss the most.

April