I Really Miss Them

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The other night I dreamed of my Dad.

I heard his voice. I saw his face. He was right there.

The dream is actually sort of comical too because he was pissed at somebody and he got in the car and squealed the tires as he yelled:

"I'll fix that son-of-a-bitch!"

I told you it was lifelike.

And still in the dream, moments later, he came driving back, followed by a cop who had the sirens blaring.

I woke up then.

Scared that something bad was gonna' happen to Dad.

I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom (a nightly ritual).

I tapped the photo of my Dad that is above the light switch in my bedroom. It's a photo that a good friend gave me that says:

Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a Dad.

It was 2:30 in the morning.

"Damn, I miss him," echoed in my mind.

And three hours later I was up and out to start my day.

I headed to let the dogs out and stopped by the photo of Jeff that is hanging in the basement. As I do every morning I made the sign of the cross on his forehead and said what I say every day:

It sucks without you.

And I headed for the door.

Later in the morning I bought a coffee and got a wheat penny in my change.

I always use that as a sign.

"Damn, I miss him."

That's it.

That's all.

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