Christmas Photos

Michelle gave Will a much needed new wallet for Chrismas.


I finished Brayden's quilt just in time for Chrismas!





General Christmas chaos.

Papa

I was thinking about him today. Sometimes my chest aches becuase I can't remember the sound of his voice. I have a picture of him, taken when I was small, and sometimes I just stare at it, remembering everything I can about him so I won't forget anything else. I stand there, in front of that photograph, and remember the feel of his chest as I nestled my head against him as a child. I remember the feel of his hand on my hair and remember him telling me I can use him for a pillow anytime I like. I can almost smell that slightly sweet scent of his pipe that he so often held while sitting in his leather chair. I can even hear him cough sometimes, that deep, throaty cough his pipe gave to him. I remember his socked feet, propped up on the footstool while he watched golf on TV. I remember the light in his eyes while he watched all of us run around playing like little kids do. Sometimes, some precious moments, I can hear his chuckle as he chased me into the dining room, playing the giant while I ran and screamed and giggled.

I have only one memory of him as a teenager. That was the one day I remember having him all to myself. He was starting to get sick then, and I wanted to hear all the stories I could about his remarkable life. The only thing I remember word for word is that he told me death was nothing to be afraid of, that he knew it was coming, but that he wasn't ready yet. Then he told me his stories. I try so hard to remember the things he told me so that I can tell them to my children one day. Most days I can still see the animation on his face as he told me everything from the first time he got beat up at school to his survival as a fighter pilot to the loss of his first child. Most days, I smile when I remember the stories he told me.

Some days, like today, I cry because I can't hear his stories anymore.