December 12. August 22. Fathers Day.
December 12 is my dad's birthday. I think of him, of the age he would be, and what our lives would be like if he were still in them. I think of the fantastic grandpa he'd be to my kids and how things would be so different.
August 22 is the day he died, the day we lost him
Fathers Day is, well, Fathers Day, and I don't have my dad here to celebrate.
I cry on these days. Texts from siblings, posts on Facebook, they all make me tear up. But they're good, too. I know I'm not alone, that others miss him as much as I do, love him as much I do.
10 years. Today it has been ten years since he died. I can't believe he's been gone that long, that we've missed his "whisker rubs" and bear hugs for that long.
(I need a scanner. Pardon the pictures of pictures.)
Me and Dad at my college graduation in 2002.
Dad as I remember him most before ALS.
We visited his grave today.
We remember him always.