With the sigh of someone who’s out of excuses, I open the cabinet. Baskets lay around on shelves, like hungover drunks, overflowing with the accessories they’re supposed to be neatly containing. The strap of a handbag drapes lazily from one basket and a long-forgotten scarf cascades over another; a paisley waterfall run amok. A third contains a snarl of tights, fishnets and stockings, piled higher than the spaghetti plate in
What a great father.
Just stunningly heartbreaking Debra. Beautifully told.
So beautiful. (I was crying by the seventh paragraph.)
I could hear his voice through the entire piece. Thank you for bringing him to life. He would be proud.
What beautiful memories to treasure! And I’m sure he’d be so proud to see how beautifully you captured this!
Dear Debra, your beautiful story -- the comfort of that beautiful scarf; the steadiness of your father through every 9.45pm sit up session, trip to shul, and train drop-off -- were exactly what I needed this morning. Thank you for always bringing us into your world that moves so inextricably from past to present. Love you.