"Sunday is Father's Day...

just in case you have something to do with your dad," he said.

It's not offensive or even upsetting, though it always causes a slight internal shudder; most people just assume both my parents would be alive when I'm only 30. When my dad comes up in conversation with someone who doesn't know my situation I usually just sort of shrug it off or change the subject. Because it's easier than explaining that he's been dead for a while, or that I have to really think to figure out how long exactly, or that I still don't know how or what to think of it. I don't think I ever really thought he was going to die.

Sometimes I'll try to remember what his voice sounded like, and I can't. The things I remember are the things I picked up; the way I act in private company, the sense of humor, the knowledge of what's right and wrong. He went away but he never went away.

When he died I was asked if I was going to write something for the funeral, but I couldn't write out what I wanted to say; It was too big for words then and it still is today.

He deserved better and I'm thinking of him today. A day or years late, I guess.