Infinity(58)

I have to pause for a moment and collect myself. I will not cry. I will not cry. It’s my mantra for today. “When I was five, I proudly told my dad that I wanted to be a doctor, to follow in his footsteps. In typical Jack fashion, he asked me what it meant to be a doctor. I told him that I wanted to be just like him, and make people feel better. My dad decided that if I wanted to go into medicine, he’d do everything in his power to help me, but I got no pass for being the daughter of a doctor. Dad made sure he loved us enough every day so us girls would have successes and failures. He never propped us up using his money or influence. Instead, he gave us opportunities to help ourselves.

“Yes, he gave me a job in his practice. However, it was made clear to everyone who worked for him that just because I shared his last name didn’t mean that I should be granted any special privileges. It was through my first job in his practice that I met my husband. So, even when I was a bratty teenager, annoyed at the crummy car he gave me, and the minimum-wage job I had to drive two unpaid-hours to work at each way, I can say that I learned work ethic from him. I learned medicine. I found my husband, and I hope to take the life lessons he tried to instill in us girls, and pass them on to my daughter.”

Yes. I think that’s about as politically correct as I can say it. I take a deep breath and deliver my finishing remarks. “My trim, fit, healthy father was taken from us too soon. He was always too busy to get the heart scan that Carmen bugged him about. He felt that because he was a doctor, he was immune to such things as heart attacks. If I could turn back time, we’d all badger him until he had the quick procedure done. Who knows? We might have avoided this gathering today. Unfortunately, I can’t, so as a doctor, I tell you all to get your heart checked yearly.” I add a bit of humor by shaking my finger at the crowd.

“In conclusion, I’m going to share with you what I’ve written to my daughter about how I want her to remember her grandfather.” I pull out the sheet of notebook paper that I scratched some words to Ainsley on. Memories will fade, so I wanted to do this while they were still fresh. I plan to put the letter in an envelope, and place it in her baby book. One day, she’ll ask me about her grandfather, and I’ll share the words that I’ve written with her.

Unfolding the paper, I don’t dare look at the crowd. I know that I’ll not make it through this if I see my sisters crying.

“Dear Ainsley.” I pause, swallowing my tears one more time. “Today, your grandfather and my dad, Doctor Jack Collins, passed away. He died doing what he loved—playing golf. He wanted you to call him Poppy, which is about the craziest name that I could imagine for him. He wasn’t a Poppy. Maybe Doc would have suited him? Grandfather? But not Poppy. I’m sure that you would have chosen the perfect name to call him.

“He loved you so much, baby girl. The first time he held you, he got tears in his eyes. I asked him if he was disappointed that he didn’t get a grandson. You know what he said? Absolutely not. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, ‘I was made to be the dad and poppy of little girls.’

“You’ll miss out on visiting him at his doctor’s office. When I was little, he kept jellybeans in his desk. For you, it probably would have been unicorns and rainbows. You’ll miss out on him teaching you to play golf. Your grandfather was an excellent golfer, but an even better teacher.

“Most of all, you’ll miss out on his wise advice. He always knew what to say, even if it was hard, and it would make you cry. Your poppy, or whatever you would have named him, loved you. He was silly and fun when he visited you. He smothered you in kisses, and told you how much he loved every little hair on your precious head. He carried pictures of you in his wallet. I know he showed them to any poor soul who dared to ask about his first granddaughter.

“Never doubt that Doctor Jack Collins loved you like he loved nobody else. I’m sorry that you will not remember him, but don’t you worry. Your crazy aunts will make sure that you hear all the great stories.”

I fold up the letter, and whisper through my choked-up voice. “I love you, Daddy.”

I all but run back to my husband and his open arms. As soon as I’m seated, Colin pulls me to him, kissing my hair. “You’re my MVP, Doctor Collins. Well done.” I collapse into his side, feeling the air being sucked from my lungs. My shoulders fold into my chest. It’s over. Finally, I can grieve for my father.





Chapter Nine




Colin





It’s been five days since I kissed my daughter goodnight and made love to my wife. I had originally planned to leave Wednesday night after the funeral, but dammit if I could bring myself to call a town car to take me to the airport. One more night with Charlie. One more morning to give my sweet baby girl some tummy kisses.