I am on the plane home from Florida. I am leaving while my father stays behind dying. A young father wearing an orange baseball cap walks up and down the aisle carrying his daughter who is about 8 months old. She is holding her chest and head erect while taking in all the sights the airplane has to offer. He only has eyes for her.
“Someday” is the word that jumps into my head as the one I want to share with him.
Someday she will hug you tight and look at you with that same love in her eyes.
Someday you will rush home from work to see her because she is sick. You will bring her a “get well” plant that she will cherish for a long time and remember forever.
Someday you will teach her to ride a 2-wheel bicycle while running beside her steadying the seat. She will be frightened but will take off on her own when you tell her you believe in her.
Someday you will teach her to slow dance in the kitchen. Her little feet will be on top of yours as you glide along humming your favorite song.
Someday you will teach her to drive by taking her on the curviest road in town. She will be terrified but will take a deep breath and relax when you tell her she can do it.
Someday she will like a boy even though you do not. You will tell her she shouldn’t see him because he does not treat her well enough. On the outside, she will cry, she will be angry; she may even say she hates you. On the inside, she will feel protected and loved.
Someday, while on a business trip, you will buy her clothing in a fancy boutique. She will wear that outfit proudly and keep it tucked away in her closet long after it is out of style and does not fit her anymore.
Someday she will fall truly and deeply in love with a man whom you believe is perfect for her. You will take him into your arms and your heart as if he has always been your own.
Someday you will walk her down the aisle and wish her a marriage like the one you have been fortunate to share with her mother.
Someday you will rush to the hospital to hold your daughter’s baby the way you are holding her right now. You will shower that baby, and those who come after him, with more love than you ever thought it was possible to feel.
Someday she will help you donate the things you no longer need, pack up the rest of your belongings, and help you move to a home in warmer weather.
Someday she will take you to different doctors to try to figure out why your arms and legs shake and why you cannot remember things. You may be frightened but you will take a deep breath and relax when she tells you it’s going to be okay.
Someday she will help you sit down, help you get up, help you walk, help you eat and try to help you remember all the things you’ve done for her over the years.
Someday she will give you a big hug, she will tell you all the reasons she loves you, and if you are really lucky, she will take a deep breath and let you go.