Friday, October 27, 2006

I’ve found myself working to remember specific details about my dad. Not just how he looked, but memories of us doing things, conversations, events. I became frantic the other night because I couldn’t remember the sound of his voice and I thought I had lost him again.

Everyone says that he is a part of me and that he is always in my heart. But it’s a poor second. How I would love to hold his hand just one more time.

1 comment:

  1. A poor second indeed. I wonder if the pain diminishes or if you become accustomed to it over time. A part of you, like that nagging ache in your ankle only worse.

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