Thank
you, Dad, for onion rolls. And tea cakes. I didn’t know everyone
didn’t have them for Sunday morning treats. Thank you for eating out
the center of the pumpkin pie with me the day before Thanksgiving and
then brainstorming about how we were going to hide the evidence. Thank
you for so many trips to NYC that I felt as if it was my town…and I
never felt scared to be there. Thank you for buying me a copy of Grey’s Anatomy when I was 8 years old and thinking about being a doctor when I grew up.
Thank
you for bringing souvenirs from all your trips around the country when I
was small, and buying OshKosh overalls for my boys and pretty smocked
dresses for my girls when they were.
Thank you for carrying so much of my worry – and telling me you had seen worse.
Thank
you for treating us better than your father treated you, and for never
giving up on or walking away from the impossible job of parenting.
Thank you for sticking it out long enough for the hard work to show.
Thank you for telling me how sorry you were – with your words and with the latter years of your life.
I sure wish we could have another Sunday morning breakfast…
