Today, I should be with Dad in WV, making a supper of ham, green beans, and potatoes followed by birthday cake or, better yet, butterscotch pie. Oh, and biscuits with butter and jelly. We’d sit out on the deck (he called it a “dorch,” half deck, half porch) and I’d listen to his stories as long as he wanted to tell them.
But he’s been gone for one year, three months, and three weeks (give or take) now.
And while I miss him every day, today, I miss him more.