I remember her daddy used to take her to Bob Evans, but play along nicely and said let's go to Bob Evans, we haven't eaten there for a long time. She carefully chooses her dress and I see her applying lipstick.
"Mom, how do I look?" She asks me from the top of the steps.
Translation: How do I look today for my Father's Day breakfast for my dad? Good grief, I fight the tears that want to come to my eyes and I think an elephant is now sitting on my chest.
I walk to the bottom of the stairs and look up. She is in her favorite dress with the silver sparkle vest we bought for her dad's funeral. "You look beautiful," I told her and she smiled.
We sit in a booth and Brooke pulls out a picture of her and her daddy and sets it on the table with us.
I notice the waitress doesn't stop looking at the picture every time she comes to check on us. Please don't ask, I say in my mind.
At the end of the meal, Brooke was full, happy, and thanked me for taking her to breakfast. She picks up her picture and says, "Happy Father's Day, daddy, back in my purse you go!"
Sometimes I never know how this day is going to turn out.
