It was easy to convince myself that they somehow were souls that were bound to each other. It seemed like my dad could look into Little G's eyes and see where he had come from...and it felt like Little G was trying to tell something to my dad about where he was going.
I know it sounds silly, but in the early days of Little G's life, when I would look at him and wonder about how I was possibly going to teach him about the most important thing in our lives, God, I would be overcome with a sense of peace that he must know more than I could ever tell him because he was just there.
So, with the second anniversary of my father's death looming ahead and with the impending birth of my daughter, I am finding myself hoping that my baby girl somehow knows my dad. I know she'll never be able to speak those words to me, and I know that a lot of this is just me projecting what I wish could be true onto my unborn child.
But what if.
(picture of my sister and my father from the summer of 1970)