My Papa died several years ago, and even though he left memories in all our hearts, he left his mark on my parent’s home.
When my parents decided to add an addition to the house, two features were a must: a brick fireplace and the addition itself would also be brick
Now my Papa was a retired bricklayer, so there was no one better for the job. Papa would come over every day to work and every day my mom would be his apprentice. She worked with him, side by side, hauling bricks, mixing mortar, passing tools, and cleaning up.
She tells us quite often that those days, no matter how hard, were some of her favorite memories. She cherishes those hours they spent together, daddy and daughter, even though many of them were spent in silence, just getting the job done. Those are hours and days that can never be taken away from her. My Papa put his heart and soul into that brickwork, and every morning, when my mom wakes up, she is lucky enough to see Papa.
My mom sees him whenever she looks at the magnificent fireplace in their living room
Whenever she decorates it with all our stockings, lights, and garland during Christmas time.
Whenever my dad lights a fire on those cold winter nights.
My mom sees him whenever she gazes upon the beautiful brickwork on their home.
Whenever she lounges on the back deck, reminiscing of old times in her own childhood home.
Whenever our family is gathered in the back yard for one of the numerous parties, having fun, but also yearning to have those empty seats filled again.
Yes, my Papa was taken from us several years ago, but there is a part of him in my parent’s home, a part that can never be taken away.