My daddy and his rain of comments

My dad used to go to the cyber cafe to check his email and write to me and my siblings. And in the last few months of his life, to check his facebook. I knew exactly what days he went to get online, because I would find a ton of notifications on my fb page. Notifications of comments on my photos, mostly. I miss that. I miss communicating with him and hearing his voice. I miss the random, but sophisticated comments he would come up with. Some were so deep, some hilarious. Like when he said "Y ese travesti?" on the photo of me in Las Vegas next to a statue of Ceasar (wearing warrior clothing... so a skirt, basically). My daddy. One time he called me Papaya Hindu on a comment, because I was wearing a really bright orange shirt. 

Fuck the holidays. They remind me that I'm not getting a call from him. That I don't have my father sending light to me, sending me his blessings. It breaks my heart.