Missing Daddy

Sophie spent a good part of the weekend taking the things out of her room, one by one, and piling them up on the living-room rug. “I’m packing,” she said. “Go see airplane see Daddy.”

I tried to tell her that her Daddy will be getting on an airplane in just 5 weeks to come see her. We keep counting off 5 on our fingers. I’m not sure this reassures her, so then I just helped her “pack,” moving things into and out of bags.

She put her baby-doll in her old green carseat, carefully tucking it in with her favorite blanket. “Baby sleeping,” she told me. “Baby crying. Baby misses Daddy.”

I tried to tell her that Baby has a lot of friends around, and will see Daddy soon, but she insisted that the only thing that will make it better is if Daddy kisses it.

Eventually, I got her out of the house and down to the beach, so I could fill her day with thoughts other than Daddy.

Then on Sunday, when she fell down and scraped her hand and knee, she asked, “Daddy kiss it?” I told her that Ben would kiss it when we skype on Monday (he doesn’t have internet access on most weekends), and that he would say, “Scars are cool.” I tried to say it in his voice, for her.

On Monday, the skype wasn’t working well. But she found one of her plastic phones, and spent at least 30 minutes of the morning talking into the phone. “Daddy, I’m wearing my new flower shoes. Daddy, I’m in the car. Daddy I’m going to the park…” She has now taken that toy phone to bed with her.


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