Chapter 2 - Daniel Died Before He Met His Daughter
Daniel Walker was thirty-four years old when he died.
He had been my husband for six years.
We met at:
a hardware store.
Unromantic.
I was trying to buy a drill for my father’s birthday.
Daniel spent fifteen minutes explaining the difference between:
impact driver
and:
drill
before admitting he did not work there.
I should have walked away.
Instead I married him four years later.
Daniel worked as an estimator for a commercial construction company.
Good salary.
Steady.
He was the kind of person who repaired things long after replacing them would have been easier.
Coffee maker.
Lawn mower.
Our marriage after six years was not:
perfect.
He left socks beside the laundry basket rather than:
in it.
I stacked dishes in the dishwasher incorrectly according to:
standards he had invented.
We argued about:
his mother.
Frequently.
But he was:
kind.
Steady.
And desperately excited to become:
a father.
We had tried for almost eighteen months before I became pregnant.
When the test turned positive, Daniel sat on the bathroom floor and cried.
Then asked:
“Is crying good?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Then cried harder.
Grace was his idea for:
the name.
His grandmother had been named:
Grace.
Vivian hated it.
That should have told me something.
When we announced the name at twenty-eight weeks, she said:
“You’re naming my granddaughter after someone from my husband’s side?”
Daniel laughed.
“Mom, Grandma Grace made the world’s best pie.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
Vivian never answered.
Because the point was:
position.
May you like
Always.
---
