Today, as it often happens, I was thinking of my dad. I remembered when he came home from Peru that last time and how he looked so happy to see me. He lifted me up in the middle of the living room and twirled me around (no easy task at that time). I really, really miss him so much. It hurts me to think that at the time I didn’t appreciate him as much as I should have. If I would have known that he was going to die two months later… things would have been different. I can guarantee that.

I thought about how I wished I could fly out to Cali to put flowers on his grave. It’s been at least two years that I haven’t done that. Then I wondered what kind of horrible person I was for moving so far away and not putting flowers on my father’s grave.

Have you ever had strange, morbid thoughts? I pictured getting married over my dad’s grave so he would be there on my wedding day. I know he’s not really there, but I kind of feel like that’s all I have left of him. And I wish so bad that he were still here today.

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