Summer had been stellar. Full of stargazing, sunshine and swimming. Movies mixed in, and our summer turned into a melting pot of adventures and excitement. But, by far the best thing had been being with my father, who had just arrived home from the military. The day he got home, I wrapped my arms around him and cried for joy, but now, it was our last day together, the last day of summer.
My toe-socked feet lead up to my legs and body, myself sitting upon my father's lap, our hands both touching the emerald green grass. The sky was still blue, but the clouds were rolling away, and that usually met nighttime was coming upon us. In the distance, I could hear the waves lapping against our neighborhood Santa Cruz beach, where I can visualize fish jumping, and see the weirded out faces of seagulls, pecking at the saltines someone left behind. The day slowly began to seep away, and streaks of orange, pink and purple flashed across the sky. The sun slowly, and steadily, hid behind the mountains, and, not being able to catch myself, I yelled. My quiet tears had been dripping down my face for to long, now, and I hugged my dad close as I wailed. He would be gone to Afganistan for two years, and by the time I would see him again, or even so much as hear his voice would be when I was in college. Or, in heaven.
Life without dad had been hard, and our summer had been great, but now it was time to let go, and move on. And, cradling me in his arms, my father carried me to my room, and tucked me into bed. Dad sat on the edge of the bed for a while, stroking my hair as my tears subsided. I felt his warm lips on my cheek, heard a faint 'I love you,' and then my door shut. Those three words had comforted me, those simple three words had stitched the tear in my heart, and I fell asleep, knowing that my dad would think of me and my mom until his dying day, even if he was 7,500 miles away.