folded newspaper

Folded Newspaper sits in my wallet. It has yet to yellow or become brittle, it's still too new.

I pull it out from time to time and read the very few lines that sum up my husband's life. It says his age, his occupation and where he died. The part that seems to burn and be written in bold is where it says who he left behind.

A few names. It seems so insignificant.

But all I see when I look at is a few names that weren't important enough to live for. To fight for. Especially three girls who are going to face a time when normal girls reach for their daddy and they are just going to see themselves as they are written on that paper...insignificant.

Was this the legacy you wanted? Was this really what you left behind?

As you took your last breaths, did their faces come to your mind? At any moment did they matter for one second? Did you see their big brown eyes and toothy grins?

Because all I see now is huge brown eyes filled with tears that threaten to spill at any moment. I see girls who tell people in the store that their daddy is dead because they are trying to accept it best they can. I see eyes clinched in pain in sleep as they struggle through emotions that their young hearts don't understand.

The folded newspaper...it's all I have that shows your life. Yet, your life is all around me. It crawls in my lap for comfort. It asks for a bedtime story. It cries into my shoulders. It hugs me with love. It wipes away my own tears. It begs me to bring you back. It begs me to never leave it. It makes me promise to do the things that you will no longer do.

Just a few lines on a piece of folded newspaper. It's all you are.