Hold Him

Dad, I never meant to start ignoring you.

Never meant to turn my back on your memory, but I stopped using shuffle when you died.

Couldn’t get myself to listen to your favorite songs, but couldn’t get myself to delete them either.

I wanted to think of you and laugh or smile, but everything was wrapped in missing so heavy it choked out my breath and sometimes I just wanted to breath.

So I started to angle my body away from your memory and dad I’m so sorry.

I never meant to erase you.

Never meant to kill you a second time.

You’re just missing so much and it feels like drowning to see air where your body should be.

But dad, I’m finally staring at your memory and I don’t understand how death works, but I need you to hear me.

I had a son.

And your arms will never hold him, your eyes will never see him, your chest will never know the weight of his head. You’ll never get to hear me called mama.

But maybe, if I speak loud enough, you’ll be able to feel these words.

Dad, the way Nolan says, “ball” is my favorite joke, favorite greeting, favorite prayer. He whispers it as he falls asleep and shouts it when he wakes. He calls me ball more than mama and it feels like a crown.

My favorite feeling in the world is his warm head tucked under my chin and my favorite view is his pudgy fingers pointing to the pictures in No David.

Our floor is covered in little toe marks and our couch is covered in cheerios. There are four plastic balls under the driver’s seat in my car and my most-played album is now Trolls.

I’ve never loved myself more than when I get him to laugh, never felt more at home in my life than when his eyes and nose crinkle.

My life has never felt so big and messy and full color and I wish more than anything you were here to see it.

Dad, I’m so sorry you aren’t here.

I’m so sorry your timeline missed my son’s and I’m so sorry I can’t fix that.

Dad, I never meant to start ignoring you.

I’m going to start using shuffle, going to sing to your favorite songs.

I’m going to think of you and laugh or smile, even if it comes between shallow breaths.

I’m going to wrap your memory around my son like a blanket every night.

Going to tell him about you for his bedtime story.

And I’m going to love him with all the love you gave me.

Dad, your arms may never hold him, but I promise-

your love will.