It was a bitter cold morning ten years ago today that my dad died. Ten years! I’m not going to ask the cliché question of “Where did that time go?” when I know exactly where it went.
I think he’d be delighted that I’m in England today, just as he would have happy for me to be in Mexico, the US, and western Canada in years past, all because that meant I had finally found my way out of that old life that made me so unhappy.
I went down to the village this afternoon for a little human interaction and shopping and treated myself to fish and chips because Dad would have loved them. I still have all the letters I wrote him from Scotland nineteen years ago. If I was writing him today, I’d just have this to say:
I’m finally learning to speak English! I was at the supermarket today looking for crackers and asked someone, “Please, where may I find the cr…ispbreads.” Crackers here go boom!
Miss you and wish you were here!