My father died yesterday. I wasn’t sad. It was his time. He was 96 years old. He had made his peace with the world and he was finished with it. He had shown his love for all of us, he had said goodbye, and he just left.

Today I went to the swing set in the park. It was deserted. Wasn’t a big surprise considering it was noon in a cold day in Spring. The kids all still in school as they rightly should. As I sit on the black rubber seat I smile. I remember.

I remember the long summers in the park. My father pushing me on the swings, doing under doggies till the sun went down. My sisters all begging for a turn. My father giving it to them. I remember laughing at his corny jokes, his funny faces, and his crazy antics.

Sure I’ll miss him but I know that he’ll never truly be gone. I am one half of him in a way. And he will always be there to greet me in my memories. There to give me a warm hug. There to make me laugh when I’m blue and feeling down. There to cuddle up to and be read a story.

As I push off from the ground I look to the future. I imagine taking my 2 year old and my 3 year old here. I imagine creating new memories with them except I am the one pushing this time. I am the one cracking the corny jokes, I am the one making the children laugh so that in the future when I am gone my children will remember this place and know that good memories are only a short drive away.