My dad died when I was 18.
I think all the time about how he would be with Brody. What they would talk about, I envision my dad hugging Brody, or having Brody sit on his lap.
And how extraordinarily happy he would be with this pregnancy.
I have a picture of my dad on the bookshelf in our bedroom. I put it on the next to the bottom shelf, so Brody can see it.
It's a photograph from World War II, my dad in his dress army uniform, smiling. He's very handsome. In the picture, he's around 26 (I think). He had written "Love, Ed" on the bottom of the photograph.
Sometimes we talk about my dad. Brody knows I have a mom (Oma) and that Oma is always with Jacques (her husband who we love).
Last night, I was in the room and Brody walked in, right up to the picture.
Brody: Is dis yer daddy?
Me: Yeah, that's my daddy.
Brody: I would like to meet him.
Me: He would like to meet you too. He would love you.
Brody: Would he be nice to me?
Me: Of course he would.
Brody: Den I will be nice to him..... He's a police man.
Me: Well, he was actually a soldier.
Brody: But he's got a police man hat on.
Me: I guess he does.
Brody: Where is he?
Me: He's in heaven.
Brody: But I wanna see him!
Me: I know. .... Me, too.