I miss Quincy
Her blue-eyed smile
Her playfulness
Her esprit

I miss being with her at her brother’s events
I miss hearing about her events… her friends

Her friend who was a boy

I miss hearing her laugh with her new friend who was a boy
Like they did the week before she died
They were in the kitchen
I was upstairs
I listened to them giggling
And I smiled and thought myself old

It was good to have youth
Laughing downstairs

I miss the sound
I miss her sound
I miss her smell
Which is all but dissipated in her room
I try and catch it somewhere in her comforter
But it is leaving
(I wonder what she’ll smell like in heaven)

I miss having another girl in the house
In the car
In my arms
I miss being her dad
I was so proud to be her dad

I am so proud
Of the wake she left behind
We should all be so fortunate
The wake curls and rolls far out beyond what I can see

I’m watching the wake
But I’m in it too
As it rolls
I feel the tug, the hug of her arms
She holds me in close
And says, “You smell like daddy.  I love you.”

Once, during Quincy’s first grade school year I was invited to join her in some kind of a father, daughter event.  I remember brief moments of our day… holding her hand… some kind of game where we danced… her pleated khaki skirt… and the sunlight through the window catching her new shoes.   The only thing brighter than the crisp white Keds was her personality.  The time arrived for her to introduce me.  With escaping first grade, pent up emotion she dramatically threw her arms open and said, “This is MY dad!”  

I don’t know if she was that proud or that nervous  
In my mind I imagine both 

It was the best introduction I ever received 

I don’t forget the moment  
I don’t forget the blue-eyed smile
I don’t forget 

I miss Quincy