3 8 6 3 5 7

Beside me, my niece stands holding the evening program before her. But she is not singing.

I lean into her a bit, whisper, Sing, Peanut, it's good for your heart.

She lets out a little laugh, whispers back, I can't sing.

Asking her to sing is asking a lot. She's doesn't make too many outward moves that could get her noticed.

It doesn't matter, I can't sing either.

I wave my hand through the air and whisper, Nobody here can sing. But that's not what it's about. In church, you just let it out. Just sing out. You'll see, it makes your heart feel good.

I turn back to my program, find my place and rejoin the singing.

I hear her singing too, barely, timidly, but it's there. Glancing over, I can see her smiling. She feels it.

My heart is happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the morning, I walk Cheyenne. There's not a car or a person to be seen. It's Christmas morning and she runs ahead of me up the middle of the street, scattering the fallen leaves.

My heart is happy.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We have waffles and bacon at my brother's house. We want Mom to get some rest and sleep late, so she is at home still. Carl asks Kathy to bring a certain gift out for me.

I open the box and lift the cotton inside. Beneath is a sterling ID bracelet with Ensign and my father's name engraved on it. A number series, 3 8 6 3 5 7, etched on the inside.

I have never seen this before.

I look at my brother, What is this?

He tells me that the bracelet was our father's Navy ID bracelet.

Dad gave it to me when I turned 18. I want you to have it now.

I'm beyond touched. I'm floored. I'm proud. I'm loved. I feel connected.

I put it on my wrist and it feels good.

My heart is happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I leave to pick up Mom and while we are gone, friends gather at my brother's house. This is a slight change in the day's plan, one that might have been too much for Mom but she walks in the house and smiles at the familiar faces. She sits down and begins chatting. We are relieved.

I sit outside with Doc. He is one of five sons my father's best friend brought into this world. Each unique but all remind me of his father, Bill. Doc smokes non-stop and that reminds me of his mother, Cleo. We've known each other all our lives but these days seem to only see each other at funerals and Christmas.

He tells me a story of a hunting trip he was on with our fathers long ago in El Paso. His face and voice are familiar and warm.

He pauses in the story, tosses the ball to Cheyenne, says, You know, they were the original Odd Couple, our fathers. Dad liked hunting but he hated being in the mud, so he was in a little John boat. And your father, he didn't care at all. He had a bunch of rope looped over his shoulder and in his giant steps he was pulling my father in that damn boat all across the marsh.

He mentions Pintails and Greenheads, shakes his head and tosses the ball to Cheyenne again. I study the familiarity of him and think how easily I can see our fathers doing this.

My heart is happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cheyenne has had a big day. From the early morning walk to the squeaking bouncing discoveries in her stocking to eating all sorts of food handed to her throughout the day and, later, chasing the tennis ball in my brother's back yard.

I glance under the table to find her sound asleep. Exhausted.

My heart is happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later in the evening, we open gifts and have dinner. Some tears are shed, but Mom holds on through this first Christmas without Dad. We all do.

After coffee, I drive Mom home, get her gifts inside and unpacked, and put her in bed. She's unsure what day it is and she's unsure where Dad is, but she's falling asleep as she wonders. With her safe and sound and the house locked up, Cheyenne and I head home.

Instead of the freeway, I drive through the neighborhoods, looking at the Christmas lights and yard decorations, listening to Christmas music on the radio. I feel good. Somehow, someway, the magic got inside. This was a special Christmas, tender and sweet. All week, I've felt my father in my heart, in who I am. I've felt his presence, his generosity, his patience and his love. I've felt him all around me. In the sky, the trees, the church, the familiar faces. I've heard him in the music and the memories.

I feel him. I feel him with me, reaching back and taking my hand, leading me across the lonely places, keeping me safe. We drive through the night and I realize that at this moment, for this moment, I am at peace.

At home, I remove the jingle bell collar from Cheyenne's neck and put it away with the Christmas things in the closet downstairs. I take off my necklace, rings and earings. I look at my father's ID bracelet on my wrist and decide to keep that on.

My heart is happy.