mody & me

today, my dad cupped my hands together and kissed them. he examined my fingers and nails and i wondered if he was unsure if it was me or if he’s happy he leaves a legacy through them.

today, my dad hugged me and asked to kiss me more times than my happiness could bear.

today, my dad tapped my kindle when i asked if he wanted me to read to him and i tried to swallow my tears so he could hear the story clearly.

today, my dad asked me where we’re going next and if i grabbed his cane for him. (i said thailand.)

today, i again put on as many of my father’s clothes as i could to use for my pajamas. i resist the urge to wear the tshirt i bought him for father’s day and it sits, staring at me, unused since its giving. maybe he’ll wear it one day. maybe i wear his clothes to give voice to his art. maybe it keeps him close to me.

today, i hang on to every tiny blessing God allows as this illness takes my father.

today

i can feel my insides changing.

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