Saying a Name…

My Favorite

One thing that you have to get used to is not hearing a name.  Then comes those times when you do hear that name but it’s not the person you are hoping for because you know better.  I have some good people in my life.  I also know that if I tried a little harder, gave myself a little credit, there could be other good people in my life.  But the name that I want to hear, even if I’m yelling at her to behave, would be my daughter Abigail.

Lot’s of people take the politically correct route and answer their spouse or child.  I had waited so long in my life before having a kid.  By the time I was fortunate enough for that little miracle to occur, a ton of dreams were wrapped up in her before she even took her first breath.  I saw the way other people were with their child, and like everyone else I sat there and said “I’ll never do that!”.  At least until I found myself doing that same thing.

I grew up with a set of grandparents who made it very clear I was far from their favorite.  Knowing that when you are 10 years old is hard, even harder when later you are the only grandchild who is around to help them.  I was also lucky that the other pair of grandparents loved my brother and I and treated us like heroes whenever we came over.  Not spoiled, no presents every visit; but they made sure to let us know in the most important way they loved us.  They kept telling us.

I’ve seen what happens when “Favorites” are made known.  It always ends up hurting someone else.

Whenever I hear the name Abigail called from anything, even when I’m watching a thing on Abigail Adams for whom my daughter was named, I get a little catch on my throat.  When I turn around and realize that some young girl is wearing the same name, I can’t help but wonder if they would have been classmates, friends, enemies, or teammates on a soccer field.  It’s not knowing what to do with those dreams that can be the hardest part of missing someone.

It is my second winter without her and the spot reserved for her on the couch still sits empty.  There are fewer reminders laying around as well, the only Legos in the room belong to me!  The blanket my mother knitted now lays along my length rather than the length of a family.

I don’t feel like taking a walk down the dark path today, so I’m going to end this abruptly.  Let’s just leave it at Abigail will always be my favorite.

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