If Only I thought of you today not fleeting snapshots, but long reflections. Clear pictures in my memory, stored in baggies to keep them safe. Your dwindling voice fades like a sunset, barely there. I thought of you today as I wiped away tears, that come unannounced. The day you disappeared, the day he said
Will I Ever Get Over This Grief? [Editor: The Sugars referred to in the salutation of this letter are the two authors of The Sweet Spot, a weekly column (Thursdays) in The New York Times. I was particularly impressed by their answer to this question. Out of respect for the Times copyright, I am teasing
Dad, The summer after you died, I went through the attic. I was not looking for your things. Honestly, I was looking for vintage clothes from Mom’s old wardrobe. I’m not ashamed of that, because the skeletal mounds of your things around the house were suffocating. Shirts and pants and underwear, and Mom couldn’t get rid of them,
[Editor: This is only 11 days late, but the principles discussed apply to all holidays, so Happy Belated Valentine’s Day] Larry: My first wife, Vanessa, and I married young and were unable to have children so throughout our 24 years together it was just us. We never missed going out for a special Valentine’s Day