See you at the cottage
by Jen Ross Laguna
[this is the third in the three part series–
read Fragments of my father from the beginning, here]
I’m teary-eyed as I blather to the towering sugar maple that stands like a sentinel before a legion of poplars – here, where I’d laid Dad’s ashes the day before – when my normally serious 16-month-old bursts into laughter at seemingly nothing at all. I search the forest for a meandering squirrel or chipmunk. A quick shoulder check at the placid waters of Lower Beverly Lake shimmering behind us. Then my gaze veers up towards the bright-green mid-June canopy obscuring the cerulean sky, as blue as Dad’s eyes. And I remember the medium’s message after the funeral: that Dad would see us at the cottage. And although I can’t see him, my son’s giggles are all the confirmation I need.
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