Father of One

A bombshell?

Whoever coined that phrase had clearly never worn the shoes on my feet. Come to think of it, why had I laced these up for my trip to the store? I never wear these shoes, except with that one pair of pants. Thinking about my clothing choices? Now? What’s wrong with me?

The officer was long gone. His message spilled from my wife’s mouth like a flood. Her wall of anguish left me feeling wanting as mine was still newborn and gasping its first breaths in a new world.

My daughters are dead.

I played the part of the strong male; his woman held close in his arms. My father had taught me well, but I ignored his lessons. I wept openly into her hair with no consideration for what tears may do to her “homecoming do.”

I had never been a father to an only child, yet that is what I had become. My son would hear the news soon, but only after wits were collected and voices were regained.

In the meantime these bottles of wine have to be put somewhere.

Wine-rack as tombstone? Who’s ever heard of that?

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