Odd

It's odd that my father isn't here any more. Even after almost a year and a half I find myself absent-mindedly reaching for the phone to call him in California to ask him some trivial question about some show about the fight over the English channel during World War II -- you know: "Call Dad -- he'd know if the guys would really go down to the pub after a mission and get hosed, and how was that possible?" but then you suddenly snap to some sort of attention and say no, I can't call Dad any more . . . I'll never talk to Dad ever again.

It's not a sad, regretful feeling, it's just a very odd feeling. I know it's probably the same for every one of us. I wonder how long the feeling that if you just pick up the phone -- there -- you'll hear his smiling "Well, hello, Nicholas!" as if somehow he'd been waiting for me to call all day, will last.

Well, maybe it's the reverse. He heard my question and called me, in a way, to remind me he's still around somewhere.

Yes, that definitely makes a lot more sense. I'll take that.

Hi Dad. So did you guys go get hosed after every mission? Truth, please!