Firetruck

My dad gave a small bright red firetruck to Eddy when he was born. We all got small toys. Leila got a purple owl. I got a blue monkey and Eddy got a red firetruck. Eddy never let that toy go when he was a baby. He sleeps with it on his nightstand right next to a picture of dad. Leila has hers on a shelf near her cameras. Mine is sitting on a pile of books near my closet. Eddy was super young when dad passed, but somehow he knew. Leila was seven when it happened and I was six. Leila was extremely crushed. She was daddy’s little girl. I on the other hand was super sad of course but it didn’t really hit me until mum started to pack up some of his things and stack them in the attic. I was confused and mad. Why was mummy putting daddy in a box? Why was Leila up all night crying. Why was Eddy so calm and oblivious. And why was I so mad. It was all just a big puzzle to me. My dad was the missing piece to my puzzle, the one that I could never replace no matter how hard I tried, the whole in my heart was too big to fill with chocolate chip cookies.