I think I have a hard time going to sleep at times because I am afraid that if I go to sleep I will wake up and he will have gone. Died. Irrational I know, but I also know that most people die in the early dawn statistically speaking. The thing is I do not see the purpose in him hanging around if he has no real life, but, gratefully, that is not my decision to make.

Daddy always liked to follow a routine. He is not a man of spontaneous action. That is part of what has made him so reliable. He has been like an old oak that stands hard even when buffeted by strong winds.

He is scared of death. I wish I could hold his hand and lead him but again I cannot. His mother is waiting for him. His grandmother is too. His father is watching and waiting, but it is mother who's face must be wreathed in a big smile with her arms open wide. I will miss his sturdy warm hands. I already miss them. His hands at the hospital seemed so frail. You know he has these big fingers, but he could manage his way around intricate pieces and fix them like a gold chain or a watch. They were always warm on my skin when he would tug on my ear or tap me on my knee. I miss his warm loving hands.

One of my favorite images is that of a child in the Big hand of God. I think God's hands must feel a lot like daddy's.