writing doodle - through his eyes

It had been a long week, the kind where nothing went right.  When Judy took her umbrella to work, the sky cleared.  When she forgot about it, it poured.  Her boss was being a jerk, per his usual, and her most demanding client didn't think she bent over backward far enough.  If she lost ACME paints, she'd lose a big part of her commission base and right now that wasn't acceptable. She needed the money for medical bills.

She sat in her husband's favorite chair and opened the drawer in the table next to it.  She fished out the glasses she kept there, stored in a monogrammed hanky, and gingerly put them on.

"Mom.  What are you doing?" Judy's six year-old daughter, Melissa, asked. "I'm starving.  What's for dinner?"

"I'm looking at the world through your father's eyes." Judy indicated the thick lenses in the black, plastic frames.

"Can I put them on?"

"Maybe after dinner. I'll be done soon."

Sean saw all of the possibilities and all of the joy in life.  Besides, he saw her as perfect and wonderful.  It was his faith in her that kept her in graduate school and got her to see her innate abilities.  He never saw her short temper, short stature, or shortcomings.  When he died six months ago, the only possibility she could see was a life without him.

She looked around the room and though blurry realized that life in this house with their kids was really pretty nice.  Good even.  That was when Judy decided she would give Melissa her own pair of frames, sans lenses, so she might see the world through her father's eyes.