The Demise of My First Love: Innocent & Blissful

Five years old, almost six

That was my age

“Your dad. . . He isn’t coming home”

My eyebrows furrowed instantly

These words overflowed into my ears

My body shut down

The bliss chapter of my life had met its demise.

My first love had ended

My lungs felt heavy, too heavy to breathe.

My brain ached

My feet carried me into my mother’s arms

A waterfall of tears streamed down my warm face

This couldn’t be happening

Who was going to stop all the monsters from coming into my room?

Who was going to drive the green Mercedes and sing “Brown-Eyed Girl” to me?

Who was going to drink a glass of nasty milk so I would drink mine?

Who was going to sing “It’s schoolee woolee time!” to me every morning for school?

Who was going to meet me at the top of the stairs when I couldn’t sleep?

Who was going to draw me pictures to color in or kiss my knee when I scrapped it?

My Daddy had to come home.

He was my hero.

My first love

He had to come home.

But, he didn’t.