Hey Dad:

I’m sitting here at the computer, texting back and forth with the siblings, remembering this day and how it changed all our lives. Hard to believe it’s been six years. Hard to believe we had no warning that you would leave us. But, then again, looking at pictures from around that time, it was clear you were in pain. You did a great job of hiding it whenever we were around.

 It’s a typical, early April morning. With lots of sunshine at the moment. It’s in the lower 50’s. Much like the day when you left us. My hyacinths are up and blooming and sending a heavenly scent your way. The crocus have come and gone, but the mini daffodils splash a bright yellow everywhere they have come up. The magnolia tree has many buds, waiting for the air to warm up a bit more before bursting forth with the stunning fuscia color when they bloom. Of course, the peepers are out and chorusing through the night, although we’ve had a few nights when I’m sure they buried themselves deep beneath the mud and water as it can still get below 30 this time of year. The male goldfinches are the mottled green/bright yellow that signals winter is over, but I never count winter out until after May 9^th. May 9^th,  your birthday in 1977, brought a blizzard with 18” of snow, that melted quickly in the next few days as the temps soared into the 70’s. I’m sure you remember that and chuckle to yourself, eyes twinkling at Mother Nature’s joke.

My garden beds need a cleaning out. I’ve left the leaves, and the stalks from the glads and dahlias to provide a wintering over place for the bees and other insects. But I think it’s time to start raking and turning over the soil. I miss sitting on the front steps, talking with you on the phone about the arrival of spring.

The thing is, I miss your physical presence so much. But every day, I feel your spiritual presence and warmth surrounding me. I felt you sitting with me last night when I woke up from a deep sleep about 2:41. You send me signs and I take notice. I talk with you all the time and I know you hear me. It comforts me to have this connection, but nothing will ever take the place of one of your big hugs. I hope when we meet again, we can share some version of a physical hug that always made me feel so safe and so loved.

Till we meet again…I love you Dad!