I wasn’t planning on writing about my father today, but he has been on my mind all morning long. It wouldn’t feel right for me not to do something in his honor, even just a few words or a memory….

I loved to sit on my father’s lap and play a game we made up, the “why” game. I would ask him why the sky was blue, or why the grass was green, and he would always come up with an answer that suited me.

Here I am, sitting on my dads lap.

If I write a poem, I will cry, and that has already happened twice this morning. (Good reasons for a change.)

I will just leave it as is it, because I don’t have the words right now to convey just how much I miss him. I would love to sit next to him now, (too big for laps obviously) and ask him tons of questions, one right after another.