“It’s a sign.”

That’s what a friend of mine tells me every time something “happens” that reminds me of my father. He’s been gone three months, and maybe it’s his way of letting me know he’s watching over me.

One of those signs occurred today.

Four days before my Dad died, I told him about a new family-owned cafe’ that I wanted him to try. They serve breakfast for dinner, which was his favorite. So, today, after Griffin’s game, we took my Mom to the new cafe. Greg went to pay at the counter, and called my name.

I looked up to see him pointing at a bowl of Tootsie Rolls by the cash register.

Dad always handed his grandchildren a Tootsie Roll when they left his home. It was their “thing.”

In some small way, I think my Dad dined with us.

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