My daughters second birthday is fast aprroaching. My father wanted to buy her something special, just from him. I get a phone call around two in the afternoon. "I'm no good at this." He says, and I can hear the grief in his voice. It brought stinging tears to my eyes that I quickly blinked away even though he couldn't see me. "I want to get her a dollhouse." He tells me, "but nothing too big and nothing too fancy, there's so many I can't decide, if your mother was here..." His voice trails off as the thought sinks in and I rush to interupt it. I tell him I am on my way to the toy store with my aunt and I will find something age appropriate that I think she will like without vearing away from his original idea of a doll house. I live every day thinking that thought, if my mom were here. But it's hard to understand how many of the little things change when someone is gone. Just the things she would have done if she were still alive. Like helping pick out a toy for the baby's birthday. He is trying, and I do my best to help him. But God it hurts getting those calls.
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