Skip to main content

Daddy’s Eyes

By



Drinking my coffee from the front porch swing this morning, I opened my phone as I usually do to make sure I haven’t missed anything important going on in the world (insert a little sarcasm with truth, right there). 


It’s a quiet, foggy morning with an occasional log truck going by. The birds chirping, my cats, playing at my feet, squirrels running across the yard… just very peaceful.


As I looked down at my phone, I had somehow opened my photo albums and I was staring straight into my dad’s eyes. Those eyes. He had the most beautiful blue eyes. My eyes are blue, but not like my dad’s. 


I stared at his picture for a moment, researching the outline of his face, every little wrinkle and gray stubble. The thinning of his hair, the thickening of his eyebrows, the color and rough texture of his skin. The shape of his mouth with his lips clamped tightly without his teeth. That Humphryes nose that he blessed us all with. His eyes; one round and one almond shaped, I definitely have his eyes. 


Of course I remember perfectly what my daddy looks like but until staring at this photo, I never really saw what I see now. I cannot even explain it and maybe I’m not supposed to. If he were here right now I’m sure all the words would flow out of my mouth without me even thinking about what I was saying. But he’s not here. So, I just sat here and looked at this photo of him. 


His blue eyes a little glassy and a smirky little grin on his face. I can’t help but wonder what he was thinking, but I know for a fact he was deeply loved. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Proposal

By
Thursday, February 16, 2023, will be a night forever stuck in my head. It had been cold that day; the aches and pains of fibromyalgia and arthritis had been tormenting me all day. I couldn’t wait to get home and curl up in front of a fire and do nothing for the rest of the evening. Kevin, my boyfriend, had come by the shop to get his haircut that afternoon. He told me he bought me a new pistol because he didn’t like the one I had. It was an old Charter Arms .38. The trigger was a little stubborn, for sure and the site was certainly off. I consider myself to be a little “sideways“ most of the time anyways, so if the pistol was a little off, no big deal but good thing I never had to use it! I was just super impressed that he was concerned enough about me and my safety to even purchase something that significant for me. After all, we had only been dating just over 10 months. I arrived to his house about 6:30 PM. He greeted me and led me to the kitchen where my surprise awaited me. He was ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Running on Empty (and my husband’s last nerve)

By
One factual thing about me … I never look at the gas gauge. The only time I think of putting gas in my vehicle is when the gas light and alert goes off. That’s exactly what it’s there for … Just like the alarm clock or timer; a reminder that it’s time to do whatever it is that it needs to be done.    When we go somewhere together, my husband is always asking if there’s gas in my car. (He should rightfully ask, knowing that there’s probably not). He’s warned me numerous times that one day it’s gonna happen; one day I’m gonna ride those fumes home and I’m not gonna have enough time to stop and get gas on the way to my next destination. One day.  So there I was, on a Saturday afternoon, cruising along, singing at top of lungs, arm out the window, bobbing my head back and forth to some questionable 80s pop, completely oblivious to the fact that my car was running on fumes and good intentions. My destination? The nail parlor, about 12 miles away.  Suddenly, I felt a sputt...
Post a Comment
Read more

Row 7

By
  You know that sinking feeling? The one where you emerge from a store, laden with bags (or, in my case, five sugar-fueled grandchildren), and you stare out at a sea of identical metal boxes, none of them yours? Yeah, that was my personal hell for years. My superpower, (one of them, at least), was forgetting where I parked the nanosecond I step away from my car. The true turning point, was quite a few years ago when my grandchildren forever cemented my reputation as "Nana Who Loses the Car," happened at Walmart. Imagine: five small humans, each with their own unique brand of post-shopping fatigue and a desperate need to pee, nap or eat, wandering aimlessly with me through acres of asphalt. We looked like a lost expedition, complete with complaints echoing off the distant fluorescent lights. "Nana, is it that one? No, that's not our white one!" "Are we ever going to find it?" The shame, people, the sheer, unadulterated shame. We eventually located my hu...
Post a Comment
Read more