Shake Hands

Shake Hands

His Philosophy of life so simple, yet so deep. “One must be good to be happy” is what he told me often.

And so he was: …good and happy.

We walked on starry nights and gazed at the sky looking for aliens to abduct us and take us to see their wonderful worlds.

It never happened, but we walked together under starry skis.

Walking with him: better than any alien world.

He taught me stuff.

I am here to teach you how to live without me … not with me” he said this too.

Words that hit my young chest and filled me with tears.

And so he did:  …he taught me well.

We flew a kite from mountain tops and windy prairies… never by the sea.

Big kites shaped like birds, made from colorful fabrics, anchored by thick rope.

…thick rope that blistered his hands. But he always laughed at the kite.

When you meet people, look at their eyes with peace, extend your hand and shake theirs firmly” he taught me when my child hands were big enough.

And so he did: …he shacked hands with love and made friends.

We shook hands one morning and he hugged and kissed me goodbye one morning when leaving for school.

My dad died at 9 that day.

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