"Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every now and then."
That was my favorite phrase of yours, even when you inexplicably changed the squirrel to a hog and insisted that that was the way you always said it. I still hear that phrase every once in a while.
In the last week, it seems like I've heard it ten times per day. I think I've heard it in my sleep as well.
Today marks three years. In that time, so much has changed, and yet, nothing has changed at all. I still feel like someone hit me in the stomach with a bowling ball, and I am resigned to the fact that feeling is never going to go away.
I'd give anything I've ever had and ever will have just for one more day.
I miss the security of knowing that there was a person I knew who had gone through everything that I had yet to, so that I could ask about what to expect when those experiences came my way.
I miss going out for breakfast, It hasn't been the same since.
I miss hearing you rip on the Cubs even though I was aware that you wanted them to win more than anyone.
I miss it all.
My father was so much more than that; he was an advisor, a mentor, a guru, a sage, an almanac, an historian and a friend.
You don't get over losing all that.
You manage instead.
And, to be honest, it isn't as bad as I make it out to be here.