Dear Dad,

I’m wishing you were here so I could call you.

You were always good about listening and not always offering advice, but just listening to what I had to say. I can remember the times I would call you at work to share some news. I would ask if you could talk and you would say you were with a client. And when I offered to call you back, you would tell me no and wanted to hear why I had phoned. I always liked that about you.

Life would sometimes get in the way, and we didn’t talk every day, but knowing that you were there was comforting. I miss that. I miss your presence, your teasing, and your matter-of-fact ways. How I would tell you I missed curfew because there was a train, and you would say “Should’ve left five minutes earlier.” Or how I would decline coming home for a Sunday dinner, and you would say, “You do what you’ve gotta do.”

Then there are the times when fond memories invade the sad moments, like when I gave Griffin a piece of sugar-free Bubble Yum yesterday. I smiled when I told him that you would give me a pack of grape Bubble Yum for a footrub, and Griff responded, “A whole pack?”

Yep, a whole pack.

Oddly enough, I almost always think of your ‘walk’ when I reflect on memories of you. You had a certain way of getting through a room, with your long legs taking clumsy steps. Seems silly, I know, but that vision of you brings a smile to my face. I won’t ever forget it.

Or you.

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