Sometimes I Cry

Rachel on the morning of her wedding.

Alone in the quiet of the morning, I rested on my bed and took in the light that streamed through the open door.

I wondered for a moment whether I was awake or dreaming. If I was dreaming, I was dreaming of being alone in the morning, resting on my bed, gazing at the light that streamed through the open door.

As calmly and casually as ever, Rachel walked through the doorway. In her final months, because her illness always made her hot, she’d worn her hair up in a bun. Now, her gorgeous auburn locks flowed down over her shoulders. Her signature smile eclipsed the morning light.

Rachel’s hair and smile reminded me of a picture I’d snapped just before we’d left for the venue on her wedding day.

Her presence filled the room with love. Without speaking, I asked if she had a message for me.

“I love you, Dad,” she said. “I’ll always love you.”

I never worry about Rachel. I know she’s happy and well, but I still miss her immensely.

And because I miss her, I sometimes cry.