W.S.Y.

It's been half my life. From this point on the days without him outnumber the days with. And it's sad when you can no longer picture a loved one's face when you close your eyes. What I can see is very limited. I see his outline, his white hair parted on the side, his thick glasses, and his thumb - the nail still split from that shop room accident. I remember his chuckle, and the breast pocket on his button-down shirts. He's the only one I've ever allowed to call me "Stephie."

I miss fishing with him in Canada, out on the dock. I miss watching him fillet our day's catch outside the cabin. I miss playing cards at the kitchen table. I miss the special way he'd tie my shoes. I miss running the model trains in the basement. I miss ping pong tournaments. I miss his stoic presence - standard of his time. I miss bouncing on his knee in that old rocker. I miss hardly working in the garden while he worked hard. I miss the wooden trinkets he'd make for us grandkids. I miss everything.

Normally I detest watching home videos, but I pour over that fateful Christmas tape constantly. I watch the excitement engulf his face over the new pair of camo gloves I bought him. And even though he was so excited, he never got to use them. I wonder what happened to them. And now that house, so full of memories, will be creating new memories for a new family.