I rose out of bed and crept out into the hall. I gently opened the door to my daughter’s room and watched her peacefully sleep. I slowly made it back to my bedroom and slid underneath the covers. Madison was so upset when Paul died, she wouldn’t believe that he wasn’t coming back, but then again, she was only four years old at the time, and she shouldn’t have had to deal with that.
It’s been a year since he was killed; the only thing that kept me sane was Madison. She is such a great kid. I don’t know what I would have done without her. God has definitely blessed me by letting me have Madison for a daughter.
I was awoken the next morning by my daughter jumping on my bed. “Mommy, wake up. Your alarm clock has already gone off,” she said as she continued to jump on my bed.
“Come here,” I said and pulled her down towards me. I began to tickle her as I told her, “didn’t mommy tell you not to jump on beds.”
“Yes,” she managed to say in between her giggling.
“Okay Maddie, lets go get you ready for school,” I said and I picked her up and carried her to her room. I picked out a blue dress for her to wear today. As she slipped the dress on, I looked under her bed for the matching shoes; instead I found a photo of Paul and me.
“Madison, where did you get this picture?” I asked.
She looked at it and replied, “I found it in a drawer.”
“Honey, do me a favor next time. If you want to look at a picture or keep a picture, take good care of it. Don’t put it under your bed, place it in a frame or in a photo album, okay?”
“Yes mommy, I’m sorry,” she said as she began to pout.
“I’m not mad at you Maddie,” I said as I bent down.
“I miss daddy,” she said as she began to cry. I pulled her into a hug and stroked her hair, “ I know Maddie, I miss daddy too.”
“Why did he have to go?”
“It was his time to go,” I said as I sat her on her bed. I found her shoes and put them on her feet, "come on Maddie, lets go eat breakfast.”
I fixed her a bowl of cereal and poured some orange juice into a cup. I watched her as she ate. She barely resembled me at all. She looked exactly like her real father. She had his hair, his eyes, his nose, his smile; she was a little Kirkpatrick in every way.
“Mommy,” she said, breaking my thoughts, “I’m done.”
“Go upstairs and brush your teeth,” I said and slipped a sweatshirt on. I picked up her lunch box and headed out into the hallway. I put her lunch into her book bag and pulled her coat out of the closet. When she came downstairs, I helped her put her coat on and handed book bag to her.
We went outside, sat down on the porch and waited until we saw her bus. I kissed her goodbye and watched her get onto the bus. As the bus rode down the street, I headed back into the house. I went back upstairs and got ready for work.
