Hold the light, hold the light,
I’ll be home before the night.
If you can’t see me, look up high,
I’m the one who waves goodbye.
It’s not poetry. David would have been the first to say that. But on Saturday mornings, in our little yellow kitchen, with the pancakes burning and Caleb standing on a chair to help flip them, it was the most beautiful song in the world.
And the guys at the station knew it too. That’s the part I didn’t think about for three years.
David sang it on night shifts in the patrol car. He sang it in the break room. He sang it so often that the other officers started teasing him about it, and then started singing along, and then it just became a thing. When someone had a bad night, somebody would start humming the Saturday song. When the department had its holiday party, David would get up with his guitar at the end and they’d all sing it, a bunch of tired cops in ugly sweaters, arms around each other’s shoulders, way off key.
