“I felt a little sad saying goodbye to you. I don’t know if you detected the little teariness in my voice. I hate goodbyes.”
The above is from a letter my dad sent me while I was away at my 5th grade class week-long camp. He went on to talk about the vanilla shake he ordered from our local diner. That he is looking forward to watching the Eminem movie (“I think it is called 8” – close enough, Dad).
It now sits inside a folder with other various letters, photographs, movie ticket stubs, things that remind me of my father. I keep it beneath my bed, and on the particularly difficult nights, I go through each and every item. To remember. To mourn. To love him and the wonderful relationship we shared for 16 years. It is strange for me to think that is all I will ever…
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