We didn’t pretend the lost years hadn’t happened.
Sometimes, I asked difficult questions.
He answered them.
Sometimes we cried.
But slowly, we began building something new.
He told me stories.
***
One afternoon, we sat in Arthur’s garden beside the roses Emma had planted.
I noticed a small wooden sign near the flower bed.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Arthur smiled.
“Emma made it.”
I leaned forward.
“What’s that?”
The sign read:
“For the family we found again.”
I took my father’s hand.
My daughter had known she couldn’t stay.
She’d also known how frightened I was of living without her.
I took my father’s hand.
And somehow, amid the end of her life, she’d found a way to bring someone back into mine.
Nothing could make losing Emma easy.
But because of her, I had a father again.
***
Last Sunday, when I arrived at his house, Arthur was waiting on the porch with two cups of tea.
