For Dad

“Ah, Jin,” I can hear him say. “No one ever said life would be easy. But you have to pick up the gauntlet. Life goes on.”

He taught me well. But right now I am having trouble remembering how to take those first steps without him. I thought I was ready. I thought I knew so much. I thought I had prepared.

I had him for so many years. Still, I am selfish. I want to hear his irreverent laugh. I want to watch him break into that slow, easy smile. I want to have coffee with the tall, rugged and handsome contractor from Massachusetts one last time. I want to hear a story about the wizard, the ancients, Roman soldiers and firing up his 88s. I want to know the warmth of his hand in mine. I want the comfort of his being so the world will feel right. I want to look into his eyes see them light.

I want to tell him that he was the best Dad. That I couldn’t imagine him any other way. That no one will ever make me laugh as he did. That for a very long time, the sun won’t shine as bright.

I can hear him say, “Ah Jin. Tomorrow will be better.” I know he is right. “You have to carry on.” I see his gauntlet laying before me but before I pick it up, before I take those first tentative steps forward it must be said, carved within the depths of my heart is a place where I will carry his voice. Where I will hear him say, "Jin! You’re here!"

And I will answer, "Yes I am. Always and forever."