Unhealed

1


I sit at your feet.
Your hand strokes my long chestnut hair
We watch “Miss America” together
I dance across my sea green carpet
You smile, and tell me I could be
The next “Miss America”
Then call me Pocahontas
As I sleep I dream of going places
I am awakened by a gentle tug on my toes
We are always the first up
Together we have breakfast
You make a pot of coffee on the stove
It stops percolating indicating it is finished
The rest of the family tumbles down from upstairs
You are always smiling in the early morning
Not like the rest of the family
I sit at dinner to the right of you
As I sneak you all the veggies mom wants me to eat
And you eat all I pass to you, wink and smile.
Only spending an hour and a half with us all around the dinner table
Exactly 6:30 every evening driving a light blue Chevy van home
And the family always together
Card games on Sunday, with Tucker and Lou, Marion and Bob, or Deloris and Don
Hearing your laughter climbing the stairs to my bedroom
Yours always seeming to be the heartiest and loudest
Taking turns with your sisters Julie and Mary homes and ours
For each of the holidays
You being the glue of the family
So congenial, so loving, so warm, so loved
All ten cousins always sitting at the “Kids” tables
Even as we protested that we were all adults
I would sneak out from school at lunchtime
And always have a ham and Swiss on a round roll
Every Friday Uncle Jim’s special tuna fish
We would eat lunch together
Somehow ham and Swiss does not taste the same
I cannot remember the last time I had one
11/19/1977 has it been that long since your death, Dad?
The pain is still so unhealed.

1 Comment
  1. Andrew Sacks says

    Ellen, we thank you for the wonderful insights and perceptions.

Leave a Comment

                                                                                                                              Unique Pageviews for this article: 37