My dad died when I was 18. He was born on the 14th of February, 1922. He died on the 14th of December, 1989.
It is one of the great disappointments of my life that he never met Brody. Because I think Brody has a lot of my dad in him. His spirit, courage, heart, and certainly, his hair. (My dad had the best hair of any man I've ever known, and from my zoology class at MSU, I know that a child's hair comes from the maternal grandfather: Ed Biretta, in this case).
I frequently show Brody Grandpa Ed's picture from when my dad was a soldier in World War II. Brody always smiles and talks to the picture. I also call on my dad during Brody's surgeries to watch over him.
Two nights ago, I was explaining to Brody that Valentine's Day was Grandpa Ed's birthday. He asked me where Grandpa Ed was. I said that he died.
B: He died?
Me: Yeah, he died.
B: Where'd he go?
Me: He went to heaven.
B: Heaven?
Me: Yeah, heaven. (I'm starting to tear up now)
B: He died?
Me: Yes, but he lives in here (touching Brody's heart).
B: In my shirt?
He made the tears dry up while I laughed.
4 comments:
First of all, Ed Biretta is a kick ass name. I know for sure that Grandpa Kickass knows all about Brody -- two ginormous spirits cannot be contained by this earth.
Or by Brody's shirt.
Awww, just leave it to a two year old to turn tears into laughter! :)
What a great birthday. I'm so glad Grandpa Ed can be in Brody's shirt.
The things our little children say to us make everything worth it!
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