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"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.