At least it’s not April.

It’s the third week in November.

It is the anniversary of my father’s death, followed the next day by my eldest son’s birthday. (Believe me, I have been grateful to providence that the two did not fall on the same day.) This year, Dad’s death hits me harder than it has the past few years — because Mom is gone now, too.

I left so much unfinished with my father. I have struggled to accept that over the years, but every so often I wish I could talk to him just one last time.  The platitudes insert themselves into my brain — no one knows the hour, etc. — and don’t help.  Both my parents died unexpectedly, but Dad’s seems harder.

The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy is gone now, probably for good.  He is a continent away, breaking out and living his life.  As a parent, that’s what you want, but I miss him terribly.

It is also the anniversary of my notification that I had passed the California bar exam.  I would think that that would be a happy memory, but it’s not.  I brood about it, which is not healthy.

December cannot get here too fast.

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