Lucky

The little girl looked to her father and then looked back at the treasures spread out in front of her; the well-thumbed storybooks, “Lucky” the one-eyed, one-legged teddy bear who shared her bed each night, “Kelly-Ann” the rag-doll (who truthfully was more rag than doll nowadays) and a multitude of brightly colored, inexpensive plastic trinkets (the sort commonly given out by her little friends as party favors). An innocent bystander might see all these things as just so much junk, but they’d be missing the point. Each battered and well-worn item held its own story and its own place as part of the bond that held the girl and her father together.

“Kiss Kelly-Ann night-night, Daddy” she commanded, and passed the doll to her father. As he took the raggy bundle and held it to his lips, his daughter added, “Make it a big kiss Daddy, because Kelly-Ann has lost her Mommy and she’s hurting so much”. The father did as he was told and tried to hold in the tears as he handed the doll back to the solemn little girl sitting on his lap. There had been so many tears recently and he didn’t want his daughter to see them again.

“And how about Lucky?” he said, picking up the rather sorry looking bear and holding it to his daughter’s lips. “After all, he is very Lucky because he still has his little girl who he loves so very much.” The little girl took the bear from his hands and liberally smothered it with big, wet kisses. She smiled and held it tight to her face, breathing in the smell that toys only get when they’re loved to the point of starting to fall apart. She looked up and saw her father’s tear-filled eyes. “Don’t cry Daddy, we’ll be all right. You’ve got me … and Lucky … and Kelly-Ann … and we all love you.”

“I know precious, I know” he said in a thick, emotion filled voice and held her close to him. He  felt the warmth of her body through her freshly laundered cotton pajamas, filled his lungs with the scent of her still-damp curls and closed his eyes to savor the moment. He really was very lucky, in spite of everything; he still had his little girl and she still had him. Together they could get through this and learn to laugh again.

“Love you Daddy” she said, lifting up a still-pudgy finger to wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped his control and was running freely down his cheek. He smiled and replied “I love you too, Lambkin” and with that, he squeezed her even more tightly and started to croon the words of the old lullaby that he’d so often heard his wife sing to her.

“Hush little darling, don’t say a word”
“Daddy’s going to be you a mocking bird”
“And if that mocking bird don’t sing”
“Daddy’s going to buy you a diamond ring”

He felt her grip around his neck start to relax as she settled into a peaceful sleep. He gently lowered her tiny frame into the bed which seemed almost to swallow her and pulled the covers up around her chin. She murmured contentedly as he leaned over her to kiss her forehead and stroke her hair. He’d never expected that it would be just him to buy all those things for her and to be the only one there for her, to tell her how pretty she was and how clever she was and how much her mommy would have been proud of her.

“No” he said to himself as he felt the anger starting to swell inside him again, “that was never part of the plan!” . As he reached the doorway, he turned to gaze at the sleeping infant. As he watched her thumb seek out and find its way into her waiting mouth, hearing the contented suckling sounds that followed, his anger started to subside as quickly as it had risen within him. He was lucky; he truly was, because he still had part of his wife here with him in the form of their daughter.

He turned off the bedroom light, leaving the child’s night-light throwing out its comforting glow. He felt the weight of his despondency return as he descended each step, and he thought of the long and lonely hours ahead until she would brighten his life again. Yes, tonight would be a long night, just like all the other long nights that had passed since his wife’s untimely death; but tomorrow, tomorrow he would be lucky again as his daughter once more washed away his fears with a childish kiss and an infectious giggle. If only that matter-of-factness could stay with him through the night.

 

© Robert Ford 1997