Not long ago, balancing on a child size chair was difficult for me. Awaiting the chair’s final snap, I wanted nothing more than freedom. Old thinking. Now, whether I sit or stand makes little difference. I weigh nothing. And time never ends for me.
Taking my seat at the miniature table, our knees are so close, practically touching. Claire lifts her chin above the fresh cut lilies, and smiles in my direction. The gaps between her teeth have filled, her round cheeks are thinner. She is changing.
Leaning over the bone china plates and cups, Claire whispers, “I know you don’t like tea, but try a shortbread cookie. Please?”
A knock on the door, and Claire excuses herself. The back of her princess dress is left unfastened, the hem ending above her knees.
The door opens partway.
“That’s where my flowers went.” I sigh, grateful the door shields me.
“I promise to rewrap them. Another minute, okay?” Claire begs.
“Alright. I love you, Claire Bear.” Listening, I picture her mother softly press a kiss to Claire’s forehead.
Returning to the table, Claire reaches for a cookie. “I wish I could ask why you always wear your uniform.”
I wish I could answer.
“I thought I’d be like you,” Claire says, running her finger along the hat’s floral brim, “except fancier than your firefighter helmet.”
I grin in appreciation.
“Mom misses you. Talks to your picture all the time.”
Our silence is broken with a call. “Claire Bear, we have to go. You know the cemetery is an hour away; besides, it’s a school night.”
“Coming.” Claire answers, reassembling the bouquet.
In the doorway, she pauses. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you.”
As Claire’s little hand releases the handle, I know.
This is our last time together.
