MAKE MINE A STRAWBERRY…

“Make mine a strawberry milkshake, please,” - the words echoed in his mind shocking him awake. The voice sounded so real that he glanced around but he was alone as usual. That small voice was just an echo from his past.

He was awake now and the lonely tears chased each other down his wrinkled cheeks.

He wanted to hear that precious voice, but, each time, that dream broke his heart again. That stupid fight with his wife had cost him dearly. She was too young, he too serious and set in his ways. Their marriage imploded sending her back across the world to her parents, her friends and their parties. She took their son with her in spite of his desperate pleas and protests. The anguished cries of his son being strapped into the car echoed in his mind. Gifts and letters were returned to him, unopened. He never saw his son again, but he prayed that the little five year old brain would retain some memories of the time they had spent together.

His tired body settled back into his comfortable old recliner. Waiting for sleep to reclaim him, his mind travelled back through the years to when he was a strong, younger man. The owner of that small voice had followed closely at his heels chattering incessantly and asking interminable questions that he mostly couldn’t answer, but the little person accepted his vague explanations, fully confident in the belief that his daddy knew everything about everything.

He relived those warm Saturday mornings when they walked to the coffee shop and the little boy proudly ordered for them both - “my daddy wants a cappingchin, but make mine a strawberry milkshake please.” Did he still like strawberry milkshakes?

The little voice was silent now; the child all grown up and living on the other side of the world. He prayed that one day he would see his boy again. Time had not diminished his love for his son.

Three days later the old man walked slowly to the coffee shop as he had done each Saturday morning for the last twenty-three years and quietly waited in line. Just as he reached the counter, a deep voice spoke from behind him “my dad will have a cappuccino, but make mine a strawberry milkshake, please.” At the same time, strong arms came around his shoulders.

His heart could heal.

His boy was home.