What do *I* want for Christmas?

It hit me today when I was out Christmas shopping with the smallest munchkin. The girls were at a "Christmas is for kids" church sponsored Vacation Bible School Day - or what one lady called the "mom can shop in peace" day so Chunk and I were finishing up some stuff around town. We were having a nice morning, chattering and cooing back and forth while I browsed through the Oregon Beavers shirts in KMart.

People love the Chunk. I mean, my kids garner compliments wherever they go - either because they are beautiful or because they are hellions, it depends. But there was Chunk, sitting up all buckled into the cart, grinning and drooling and da-da-da-da-ing at everyone who passed us by and people just ate him up. Which any mommy loves.

Then this sweet older couple walks by. The gentleman stops and says to his wife, "Honey, come look at this little one! What a cutie!" Of course I grinned and thanked him and answered the run of the mill what's-his-name and how-old-is-he questions and then this sweet old man crouched down to Chunk and around a big old smile he says to him:

"I betcha any old Papa could just spoil you silly."

My whole world just kind of slowed down right then and there. I actually felt like I was underwater all of a sudden. My throat closed up and my chest hurt and my ears got kind of fuzzy but somehow, I managed to keep on smiling and gave an obligatory chuckle and exchanged Merry Christmases and Happy Holidays with this sweet old man who only wanted to compliment my beautiful son and had no idea that with one sentence, he temporarily brought my whole world to a standstill. Papa...that's what my girls called my Dad.

Any old Papa......the words still echo in my head as I sit and type this.

My Chunk doesn't have a Papa. I mean, he DOES, and he always WILL. But not really. Not here. Not the one who was supposed to bounce him on his knee and give piggyback rides and teach him to fish. Not the one who would email me child recall notices religiously like an old mother hen. Not the one who would tell me everything I'm doing wrong...and then in the next breath tell me everything I'm doing right.

It just hit me all over again. Every so often even after almost three years it just slams home. My Dad adored my girls. He was the peanut butter to their jelly. And no matter how tough he was on me, he was just a big old teddy bear pushover softie with them. Kbear was just a baby herself when he got sick. They look at pictures and they know who he is, but they don't know him anymore. That hurts. There wasn't enough time. No amount would have ever been enough but we really got cheated. How does a man become a Papa at only forty two years old and only get to enjoy it for three years? How is that fair? How is that RIGHT? Nothing anyone can say can convince me that somewhere in the great cosmic universe there is some great good that balances that out.

I miss him so much. No one is perfect. He wasn't. Far from it. But he loved us and he only ever wanted what was best for us. I hated that he always worried about us so much, and I miss having him around to worry. I miss that he was good and he was tough and he was loyal to a fault. I even miss that he was always right. I miss hearing his voice on the other end of the phone when I call home. After all this time sometimes it still surprises me that he's never the one to pick up. I miss him badgering us about whether or not we've had the tires rotated recently or the oil changed. I miss my Dad.

But today, even more than any of that stuff, I just miss my kids' Papa.