Just Write–everything {89}

There’s too much to say and nothing to say. There’s pain and a heavy heart in watching my parents drive away on Saturday, Nanny and Bapa and Auntie Kay riding away in a white car, and the five of us–our little King family–standing on a new-to-us sidewalk, waving back.

There’s not enough time to say any of all that’s changed and happened and there’s all the time in the world.

Ryan made dinner  last night. Asher said the dinner was burned and he was sitting there not eating it while Miles was trying to convince him that it was awesome. They’re both exhausted. They play and play and play and play with new neighbor friends.

They play everything and nothing, as many hours as they can fit inside one day. Like it’s their job.

Later in the day, after our family left, we went to Goodwill. On the way in, a woman told Ryan that she loved watching how he treated his kids, and she said whenever she sees a good dad, it chokes her up because her dad is a good dad and he’s far away. She had tears in her eyes and I had to look away because I wanted to cry about my dad too. She told Ryan that it’s so good to see a dad like him because he’s the kind of dad that isn’t that common. Of course, for all she really knew, Ryan The Stranger To Her could have been a serial killer and she could be guessing wrong. But her gut was right. This man is a really good father, my husband.

She told him Happy Father’s Day and we thanked her.

She had very very long blonde hair and it fell all the way to her waist. She was wearing big sunglasses and when she took them off she was trying not to cry for her dad.

I told my sister I don’t know how it’s possible that I’m still such a little girl. I know I am because it was so hard to say goodbye to my parents. She said we will always be partially little girls and I said yeah, that’s okay.

Sure is! She said.

I mean, look at that long-haired woman walking around missing her dad and crying. She’s a little girl. It’s good to love like that.

It takes help and we’ll never be done and that’s okay. It’s everything and nothing, to keep going in new things and old things while being totally fine and totally not fine. Always both and needing a Daddy.

On Sunday I called and said Happy Father’s Day. Then I added, I got you a heartache! because we try to make sad things funny sometimes. Like coming up for air.

We both laughed and he said, Yes, you did. 

That’s horrible, I said. Ugh.

Oh well, he said, whatcha gonna do? I could tell he was trying to help me not feel guilty.

I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Dad. I’m going to walk around always grateful that you are one of the uncommon ones. I’m going to tell strangers that my dad is the best. And I’ll probably cry every time, for everything.

:::::

This is the 89th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. {Please see the details here.} I would love to read your freely written words so join me and link up below. You can add the url of your post at any time. Just be sure it’s a link to your Just Write post, not to your main page, and please don’t link to posts that are not freely written in the spirit of capturing moments–you know, don’t link to how-to lists or sponsored posts. Also, please link back to this post in your post so people know where to go if they’d like to join in.

Please take a moment to visit someone else who has linked up! It’s a really good way to meet new writers and get inspired by the meaning behind their moments. Word? Thank you!