...following yet another long night doing something I'm not fond of...
making a heap of cash for someone else, while earning enough morsels to keep a roof over our heads, and holding off the bill-collectors, I arrived home hours after bedtime and found this letter sitting upon my desk.
It says..."I Love You Dad. Goodnight.
I really miss you. I prayed about you geting on a different shift.
I try to pray every night I juist forgit sometimes.
From Abby to Dad :)"
I plopped into my chair, teared up, and remembered why I'd have to get out of bed the following morning and do it all over again.
The flailing economy drove a nasty right hook into my family's well-being a short time ago, causing me to miss out on many events, and the kids left scratching their heads in frustration.
My absence in their lives began as an irritable sting roughly 18 months ago, but has since matured to an open wound.
While I'm off attempting to secure the family's future by doing something I've come to realize a long time ago that I wasn't placed on this planet to do, my little girl sends prayers to Heaven just to have me all to herself once in a while.
Sometimes we think they're ignored. Sometimes we think it's a pointless act. A waste of time. No one's even listening up there.
I received an email from my publisher...
Barring any setbacks, my first novel now has a late 2010 target date. The story I titled "Broken" so many moons ago, will soon be in print.
At night, before my little girl crawls into bed, she whispers a prayer.
Call me crazy, but I think someone's listening...