The Daughter Hat

Today I am wearing my daughter hat...

A blend of royal blue, indigo, and violet crocheted rayon...suitable for the icy weather we are having, with temperatures at 20 degrees, feeling like 12 degrees, a tight knit beanie to warm the chill in my mind, in my heart, in my chest, as I am home from work, sick with some kind of cold, bronchial congested yuckiness.

This is my daughter hat because my father purchased it for me, so long ago now that I cannot remember when it was, and for that reason, I have kept it for many years, despite the rise and fall of its acceptance among monthly, seasonally, yearly trends...all because my daddy bought it for me, and I love him and it is a manifested sign...one of millions of manifested signs...of his love for me in return.

So I don my daughter hat today because it is cold, my chest is cold, and its warmth permeates through my body and my heart on this icy day after the day my grandmother, my father's mother, underwent surgery to remove a rather large tumor from her colon. The surgery was successful, the cancer removed, but my grandmother's fate is a bit unknown, for she will be wearing a colostomy, which is something she never wished to wear, and now, my warm-hearted father, whose hat sends floods of rushing heat through my not 100% body, sits and waits in a cold hospital chamber, to accompany my grandmother, his mother, when the doctor shares with her this news that she is to wear this bag, this artificial stomach, which she loathes for cleaning my grandfather's for over a year before his death, a symbol of the most toilsome time in her history.

Today I wear my daughter hat because I love my dad. Because my heart is with him, my prayers are with him this day, as he sits beside the bed of my grandmother, wishing her warmth, emitting love from his aura to comfort her, as my daughter hat has, for so long, comforted me.