More Than An Umbrella

I don't have too many things that my dad got me.  I have the collection of spoons he would always get me whenever he went anywhere (he would buy thimbles for my sister).  I have the multi-tool he bought for me when I first started up at Potsdam.  I'm sure some of the t-shirts or DVDs or CDs I have were birthday/Christmas gifts from him, but I don't remember which.  I have a purple umbrella he bought for me, another thing for when I started at Potsdam.  It's stupid, I remember telling him, I won't need or use it! but he bought it anyway, and four years later... it's broken.  And I don't think it can be fixed.

And I cried.  I cried over a broken umbrella.  I cried over more than just a broken umbrella.  I cried because it's one less thing I have from him.  It's one less thing I have that has a memory about him attached to it.  I know he's watching over my siblings and I.  I know he smiles when we succeed and I know he wishes he could make things better when life gets hard.  I know he watches Cody play football and Hailey play lacrosse.  I know he rolls his eyes at how much time I spend on the computer and I know he smiles seeing Nikki play with her dog.  I know when I look up and smile at the sky, that he's smiling back...

And I know he misses all of us as much as we miss him.  But it's not about knowing that.  Maybe it just that time of the year it is.  In a month, it'll be two years since I last talked to him.  In just under two months, it'll be two years since his death and since wake and the funeral.  I cannot believe two years have passed.  They've passed so fast, that they almost seem to have gone too fast.  How can it have been two years since I last heard his voice?  How can it be that it's been two years since I've heard him say "love you, girl."?  How can two years have gone by?

I cried over an umbrella.  I cried over so much more than just an umbrella.