The Homecoming Tee

Journal

She was eleven months old when he left. Today, she's meeting her daddy for the first time.

I had a little shirt made for her. It says, 'My Daddy's Coming Home.' She's worn it three times this week already.

For nine months, Daddy was a face on a screen. She'd kiss the laptop and say, 'Dada home soon?'

Flight 1847. Delayed forty minutes. She asked me seventeen times if the plane was lost.

Then the doors opened. And she pointed and shouted the word she'd been practicing for weeks.

'DADA!' He dropped his bag. He didn't even make it ten feet.

She touched his face like she was checking he was real. Then she fell asleep on his shoulder before we even left the airport.

The shirt's too small already. I'm keeping it anyway. Some things you don't outgrow.