I Saw You

I saw you yesterday. At first I almost missed you. I almost walked completely past you. Somewhere in those milliseconds between footsteps sparks went flying through my brain and I caught you out of the corner of my eye. It felt like a punch to the gut. The ache going up my spine. 

Stunned, I just stood there motionless as if I'd just tripped across a baby deer in the middle of the quiet woods; afraid I might scare you off if I moved too quick. It had been so long since we had last come face to face. The speed of time has a way of distracting us from what's most important.

It was the oddest sensation seeing you there out of the blue. Of course it was your uniform that revealed your presence. White undershirt (stained of course). Faded khakis that had long ago lost any shape or form. You had gained a little weight and your hair was shorter, but a Dad isn't built to look like a supermodel. Dads are made to carry worlds on their shoulders and as a consequence their hair turns grey...the bags under their eyes begin to collect. 

You were smiling. On anyone else this wouldn't seem out of place, but let's be honest...you don't smile very often. I could tell that you were finally making your piece with the world. Something recently must have clicked and given you a new perspective. I pray some of the ghosts that have haunted your days have finally been laid to rest.  I pray you know how proud of you I am.

I wish there was more time...I wish I had the words to let you know I saw you. I doubt I could even make you understand.  The kids were shouting, dinner was cooking, life only allowed me a moment to stare...to take it all in. So I let you pass by without a word. I just tucked my head and kept going all the while promising to remember my father's reflection in my dresser mirror.