I miss you a heck of a lot. I cried tears about you tonight, and not just for the unfairness of your early death. For everything leading up to it---for everything that put you in that place to die at 47 years old, of ugly lung cancer.
You were the coolest guy ever! To everyone! Funny, smart, adventurous. That's not what then was about, though. The time you were sick. Ugly cancer.
So now, what is this parenting thing if you're not a part of it? What is Death By Tickle if it isn't in your presence. What are jokes and humor? And boating and Sperry topsiders? Rollercoasters! And beach trips.
You were fireworks, skateboarding, eating raw meat, classical rock, secrets, and inside jokes. You were cool, demanding, self-assured, and hard to read.
Who do I tell her you were? How do I describe you? She'll never know. What does it matter now, really, 8 years after you're gone. Oh, your grandfather used to let me drive his car when I was five. Or, he had this big car like a boat---a convertible---that we'd ride through town in. All us neighborhood kids. He loved football and boiled peanuts. And dogs. And old people.
I'd do so much just to have you back, just as you were. So much. I promise I would ask all of the questions I never asked then. I would love you just the same no matter what. I know that now. Oh, the wisdom.
Too late. Is this how it always happens?