Sometimes the best stories bring tears

Tonight my mom and I were sitting on the floor of the bathroom watching the Cute Show, i.e. watching Devon take a bath with about twelve of his Hot Wheels cars. The days are often so exhausting that it is sometimes all we can do to just sit and stare at Devon while he giggles and sings and enjoys just about every moment of his waking existence. She and I were talking about my father and about how each of us has slipped from the stage of shocked incredulity to a sort of numbed acceptance. I told her that I will often see a man of my father’s age and shape when I am out and about and catch my breath for a moment thinking that perhaps it is my dad and not a random stranger.
After some tears, my mom told me a quick story about an exchange she and Devon had today after she picked him up from preschool. They were driving my mom’s mammoth truck because I have been borrowing her car while mine is in the shop getting new brakes. She said that Devon got out of the truck and said, “This Pop-Pop’s Big Bear Truck. He give it us.”
My mom replied, “Yes, that’s right, Devon. Pop-Pop did give us this truck.” (It is a giant thing that my dad gave to my mom for Mother’s Day, about seven weeks before he died. They had planned to add a fifth wheel to it this year and then travel the country when my dad retired.)
Then Devon threw his hands in the air, tipped his blonde head back and yelled to the sky with as much volume as he could muster, “THANK YOU, POP-POP! I LOVE YOU!”