I can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, turns to wandering thoughts, turns to climbing out of bed and into my writing chair. The little girl inside of me speaks up. She reminds me that when she couldn’t sleep, Dad would let her climb onto his lap in his chair. It was a Lazy Boy that creaked ever so lightly, in the perfect rhythm of rest. Soon, I was lying across the chair instead of upright. Dad would rub my head, telling me not to close my eyes. His fingers ran through my bangs and back onto my scalp. No matter how hard I tried not to close my eyes, it was impossible to keep them open. My eyelids became lead weights.

Giving myself up to sleep was easy in his arms. Whatever imaginary monster had awakened me, fled when I was with Dad. I can still hear the creak of the chair. Then the fade to black. A deep sleep without hinderance. The squeak stopped and I draped my arms around his neck as he carried me to bed to tuck me in. If I stirred, I got another short head rub and my eyes were weighted shut for the rest of the night.

Funny how my little girl chose tonight to remember those rocking chair moments tonight. It’s not like if Dad was still here he would rock me to sleep. I know it was a regular occurrence back then, but I was child, not an adult woman in her 60s. But somewhere inside of me, that little girl is crying. She wants to be rocked to sleep. To be held and safe. She is remembering all the things she loved about her Daddy. She is missing him. Her heart is breaking and she is letting me know it.

She feels alone and a little scared to be without him. He always knew what to do and now she is on her own. As a little girl, she is ill prepared for this loss. As an adult woman, I am barely prepared myself. She is looking to me, but I am not much consolation. It seems we are abandoned, together. Trying to find our way through the pain of it.

The adult me knows we will get through it, eventually. Grief is a measure of the depth of the love. The more love, the more grief. Yet, as a woman, I know endings are a part of life. Loss comes to us all. We are not alone in our aching at the separation death causes. My little girl, however, doesn’t know she will survive this hurt. She keeps looking for her dad, as a lost child would search. Roaming around inside of my heart. Remembering the smell of him. His laugh. His tickles. His head rubs. All the securities he provided her. She wanders and wonders how she will make it without him. Surely, he isn’t really gone. Just playing hide and seek again.

It is difficult to tell her he isn’t coming back. She doesn’t want to hear it, much less believe it. She prefers to keep sending me memories of all the times he was there for her. Her memories make me cry. What she is telling me is important for me to hear…even if it makes my tears roll. I need her feelings, despite the adult part of me that would rather push them away. I cannot abandon her now. She needs me, and if I am honest, I need her as well. We are in this together, she and I. I sit in my writing chair, which also happens to be a rocker. I will rock her, to soothe her broken heart, and maybe sleep will find me, too.