Dear Dad

I miss you today.  Your face smiles at me from a photo on my kitchen wall.  It's 15 years ago and you're in your late 60's.  It's some random family holiday and you're wearing one of my handmade basket on your head. 

You've got a fabulous smile that reaches all the way to your hazel eyes.  You're not just smiling for the camera--you're twinkling at the person behind the camera, probably Mom.  I compare it to a more recent photo and I see how much Parkinson's Disease robbed you over the years.  It stole your ability to laugh and smile and twinkle.

When I think, "I miss my Dad," I think I miss two things:  the man in the photo with the dynamite smile and the opportunity of sharing the little achievements of my life with you.  It's hard to know that I'll never make you proud ever again.

I would never wish you back.  You're in heaven now, the man God originally made you to be.  But I miss your face, Dad.

111 days