I can't believe it's been one year already since Dad died. The weird thing about it is that I don't feel especially broken up about it, and I don't have an interesting story to tell like I did one year after my mother died. He's certainly in my thoughts, but I can honestly say that I think about him and Mom every day.
To be absolutely honest, I feel like he's still with me, like I can still hear his voice. That's not to say that I hear him like someone is physically present in the room, but I hear him in my thoughts. As long as I can still hear his voice, it's like he hasn't totally gone away.
But even this feeling that he is with me can't replace talking to him on the phone or going to visit him. Dad was always my go-to guy for advice or comfort or for a laugh and I miss that connection more than anything else. If I had a dollar for every time I wanted to call him and ask him the stupidest little question, I'd be a very rich woman.
So here's to you, Daddy-o. Your laugh, joie de vivre, sage advice and comfort are sorely missed.