Falling Into My Father’s Eyes

Love and Loss

I am six today. The old farm house is filled with the scent of cinnamon and maple syrup. French toast is my birthday request. I dress with care, and clumsily tie a ribbon in my ponytail. A shiver of anticipation tickles my tummy on my way to the stairs. I wish there was a sliver of light. I don’t want to run my hand along the splinter-filled guard rail to navigate the narrow, impossibly…