Just Thinking About You Today, Dad

I reached for the mug that says Far this morning.
I brought that for you when I was in Copenhagen—Danish for "Father."
Now I have it back.

I’m eating soybeans for lunch.
They call them Edamame now.
Do you think farmers would be paid more per bushel if they sold Edamame instead of soybeans?
The shells are salty, like my tears.

Last night I was talking on the phone with a friend.
She said, "Can I call you back, my dad is calling me."
I noticed what she said.
I knew that you would never call me again.
But there was no sting, no sadness—just the thought.
It wasn’t until today that I cried.

—Mona Jean Harley, Madison, Wisconsin, lives with her husband and two children and works as a school social worker. This poem was written one spring day 17 years after the sudden death of her father, a farmer and school psychologist, reflecting the lifelong waves of grief that wash over a person.