I think about him a lot. When I am with my son who looks so much like him. When I want to call him and share good news with him. When my mind automatically hears what he would have said in response to whatever situation I am currently in.
I miss my dad.
I'm visiting my mom and sister and nephew this week before we head out to a big family reunion and while I never actually visited this new home when my dad was here (he lived in this house for a month before heading to the hospital for his knee surgery on August 4) there are things that I know are different in his absence.
My mom has downgraded to a queen sized bed. His dresser is gone. There is no mini-ramp to get up into the house. His van has been sold. His lift-chair in the living room is long gone.
But he is still here. He's here in the stunted movements of my son as he slowly scoots around the house. He's here in the issues of Highlights Magazine that my nephew thinks his Zayde still sends to him from heaven even though he 'got dead'. He's here in the talking and laughing and smiling and reminiscing that we all do every time we think of just what he would have interjected into the conversations.
But still. I wish he was here.