Remembering my Dad

This afternoon I was showing Emma some pictures of me when I was a child. Being 3, she has a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that I was once little like her. She thought it was so funny to see me looking like her. And really cracked up when I showed her a picture from when I first came home from the hospital. It's a family picture, with my sister holding me. She couldn't believe that was Aunt Tara.

Some of the pictures I showed her were these - me with my Dad.


(May 1977)


(No date, I'm thinking 1977 or 1978)


(July 1979)

In doing so, I had to explain to her who exactly this man was in the pictures with me, because she had no idea who he was.

Six years ago today, my Dad died.

Which means Emma has never met her Grandpa McIntyre. She has no idea she had another Grandpa or that I had a Dad, really. While I gave her a quick explanation, it wasn't something she lingered on or asked any questions about. I don't think it's something her young mind can really understand. We quickly moved on to some other pictures and she giggled some more. And then she was bored. It was time to do something else. Because, as you probably know, three-year-olds don't have the longest attention spans.

But I've been thinking about the pictures. Thinking about my dad. The good and the bad. Missing him. Wishing he could meet his granddaughters. Wishing I could hear him laugh. I love you, Dad.

I realize this is way more serious that any post I ever write. I'll be back to my regularly scheduled posts containing amusing (at least to me) stories about my daughters and scrapbook layouts tomorrow. And one of these days, a menu plan. :)