As I look out my baby's window onto the dirty, wintery, New England yard that was neglected all summer. I think about asking my Dad to help us this spring, cut back the overgrowth and drag out the hedges. How did he say we should do that again? My mind wanders to the thoughts of how it would be easier if my father was in his youth again. How with his bear-like strength he could drag a six inch maple out of the ground by its roots without a tool. Maybe the memory of my Dad's brawn is a bit exaggerated. His guidance would still be wonderful. This yard is desperate for a direction. Like an ice cold knife to my stomach I remember that I cannot call my Dad for advice, nor test his elder strength, because he is gone.

My eyes turn back to my beautiful baby girl. She looks so much like my father. She too is strong physically and mentally. She is funny like my Dad and gives me those same angry looks that used to make me tremble inside when my father was upset. He would have loved her. She would steal his heart and get him to do all of those things he couldn't do with me because he was my disciplinarian. I can see them ganging up on me in some conspiracy to get more cake or stay up past bedtime. He would bounce her on his knee with his large, gentle hands and speak softly to her. He would teach her things I might have forgotten about and tell her stories of my childhood.

My heart aches as she and I look out the window into the cold morning of January. My eyes fill with tears and she looks at me in question. I smile because she is so sweet and innocent. She doesn't know the man her mother is crying about. That thought brings me more tears and I smile and leave the room. She is safe in her crib with her brother. Another day I will tell her about her Grandfather. What he meant to me. What he meant to the people who knew him.

I'll tell her about his motocycles and fast cars, his sideburns and funny songs he liked to sing. She will begin to remember him, although he died 2 years before she was born. There will be pictures and mementos to help bring him to life for her. Maybe some day when she is as old as I am now, I will tell her about his long illness and how strong he was through all of it. How he made sure his family was ok, when he knew we were struggling with his reality.

I return to her crib to start our day. She is laughing and holding her toes. She has a twinkle in her eye that I have seen before. My Dad lives on and I feel stonger already. Today we are going to eat dessert for breakfast and tonight we'll stay up late and we'll do thing that Grandpa would have enjoyed.

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