Do you ever worry...

Do you ever worry about the fact that you aren't more worried about things? Something tragic hits your life and as you look around you see people upset and crying - you, however, are not. You sit there sullen and sad, yet no tears come. No heartache fills you. No grief overtakes you.

That's me. The one who doesn't seem to feel...the one who doesn't act like she cares. I DO care...but I don't know how to show that part of me. I've spent too much time hiding it...too much energy burying it. Pushing it down and stomping it into a tight little wad to be ignored.


I figure the day will come when it can no longer be tamped down. It will reach a bursting capacity and what will happen then? Will I explode and divide into dozens of broken pieces? Will I be strong enough to jump over the hurdle of emotion that will one day drown me? 

I Looked for You

I looked for you...I always look for you. With each catch, each throw, each play, I look into the crowd trying to catch your gaze. I know you will not be there but I look anyways hoping to see your face hidden amongst the other supporters. You used to be there every time as it was our thing even when we did not have many. Now that we have so few I still believe this is our sport, our thing, our connection to a heartbeat that we so rarely share. I stand on the field scanning, imagining the look of pride I will see when I meet your eyes and even when you are not there, I still pretend. I imagine that you are watching from a place I cannot see and cheering with a clap I cannot hear. I remember the smile you would have when the ball would land in my glove, the spark of pride with each great play...the memories always make me play harder.

I feel like I am sixteen again, waiting for you to arrive. You were my teacher, my manager, my coach, and one of my biggest fans. You were my hero and my supporter. I still picture you - ball cap, blue jeans, t-shirt - smiling at me from the sidelines. I still hear the whispered pride as you brag about "your little girl." I still feel the strong arm as it rests on my shoulders, congratulating me on a job well done. I am an adult, yet I still long for your support, I still ache for your presence, and I am still disappointed when I do not see you in the crowd.

Maybe next game when I look for you, as I always do, you will be there. You are, after all, my dad and this is, after all, our thing.