Still Missing Him.

Dad, it's been three years since I saw you and your beloved hair helmet and not a single day goes by that I don't still think of you, and smile (and maybe sometimes cry a little).

Shortly after you died, I caught Max, at less than two-years-old, dragging his stepping stool out into the hallway. I asked what he was doing, and he told me, with a look of frustration,

"I can't reach him."

He was trying to get to Poppa.

I told him that he didn't have to, because you are always with us.

Dad- you're with me all the time- when I feel the warm sun on my face, when I hear Los Lonely Boys or something super-seventies and groovy like Luther Vandross, when I saw someone eating ribs at Chili's today, and when I look at the orchid on my window sill that is about to bloom for the sixth time- because orchids never, ever re-bloomed for me before.

Anyways, I miss you.
xoxo
j