Skittles & Starbursts

I used to find coins underneath the couch cushions, and I'd never tell anyone unless they asked. And I used to believe that if I dug a hole, I'd reach China. I even started to one time but stopped when the dirt turned red and black because I thought that was a sign I was getting closer to Hell. I even thought Australia was connected to South Carolina and that one day we'd drive there as a family and see the kangaroos.

But I never thought I'd lose you.
I sat on your lap, and you'd hold me sometimes until I fell asleep.
"Where did he go? Why did he go? Was it painful? How bad did it hurt? Will he still remember me? Can he see me from where he is right now? Can I still talk to him? Will I ever see him again?" These are not questions a seven year-old should be asking her mother, but I asked anway. Because I wanted to know.

I still ask these questions and many more. I still won't smoke a cigarette because you told me not to. I still remember the flag she received because of your service to this country, and I still remember burying my head in my father's lap at your funeral. Visiting you meant a long drive in the car, a warm neck to hang around, and pictures to fill my scrapbook. Visiting you meant the world to me, and my life has not been the same since you were taken from us.