Just about this time six years ago, I told my dying father that his line would be carried on--I was pregnant with his first grandchild. He and my step-mother were the only two people (besides myself and hubby) that knew we were expecting. Now, it was early enough in my pregnancy that I didn't know if I would make it through the first trimester or not. Despite my own fear of loss and miscarriage (which clearly, thank heavens, didn't happen) I wanted my dad to know that I was pregnant. I couldn't be with him the last few days or even hours of his life. Honestly, I don't think I would have handled it very well. I like to think that I gave him one last gift of joy before he was gone from the earth.
I think about him everyday, most especially when I look at that first grandchild, Nathan. He likes black jelly beans best of all, like my dad. He is curious about everything, and wants to know how everything works, like my dad. I see him everywhere I look: food; baseball; politics; college sports; Charleston, S.C.; human and civil rights; films (most recently Moneyball); family. His spirit is here with me, in my heart, everyday. Sometimes it lives in Nathan, and now at times in Keira. But mostly, he is in my heart--telling me to speak up and speak out; to try new things; to be brave. And in my heart is where he shall stay.