Okay, so I’m whining.

Today is the sixteenth anniversary of the day my dad died.  Tomorrow is my eldest son’s birthday, and for the first time since that winter evening twenty-two years ago, I won’t be able to celebrate with him — even last year, when he did not get home until the 21st, we still had a party. For the first time since he was born, I won’t be able to celebrate Thanksgiving with him, either.

I should write a lengthy post about Dad.  Instead, I feel like retreating to my room with a large take-out order of Coldstone Creamery’s dark chocolate & peppermint ice cream with crushed Oreos mixed in  and old episodes of Big Bang Theory.

I guess I’d just better go make dinner.

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