Today is Father’s Day, 2018. Of all the things that raced through my head, and continue to echo, in the days following the death of my daughter, Emma Lengquist, was/is “How do I answer the question of how many kids do you have?”
Do I just say “Four” and move on?
Do I break the casualness of the question by explaining in great detail “Four, but…”?
Do I really have to be reminded each and every time someone asks a basic societal question that part of me is missing?
Spiritually, I know where Emma is. And I’m happy for her.
Selfishly, and very much so, I miss what she could have been. What she was. And what she still is to me, if only in memory.
I feel I have a clear picture of Emma. The real Emma. Not a made up tribute-memory. With all the ups, all the downs and in-betweens, I’d take her back faster than any thought you could ever have.
Today will be fun. I’ll grill out a bit. There will be a long dog walk. I’ll work as the later evening approaches getting ready for my week. I’ll spend time with my sons, the women that they love, my daughter and my wife. It will be good day. I’m appreciative of each of them in my life. Of that, there is no doubt.
And I’ll wrestle with the question, “Am I STILL a father of four, or 3/4 of a father?”
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