John has a trumpet. He taught the girls to put it together and how to blow in it. They got really good. He couldn’t wait to teach them how to play all the instruments. “They will learn it all” he would say.
KitKat brought it out the other day. She played it and then brought out the trumpet case. “It’s Dada.” “Yes, that’s his trumpet.” “It’s Dada” I looked at the case and there was a picture of him. He took school pictures once a year and they would give him a pack. The pack included stickers and he put one on that case.
She has been breaking through this past month and a half. It’s hard to hear her start a sentence with “When Dada was alive…” but she has been talking about him. Remembering him. Allowing herself to think of him and love him.
Her little finger touched his face over and over with a smile I haven’t seen in 7 months. She saw a familiar face that was home to her and she was fixated on this sticker. “Dada” She traced his eyes, nose and mouth a few times.
Then she whispered “I miss you Dada”.