My Daddy.

Twenty-seven years. I have lived without him longer than I got to walk this earth with him. 

Maybe it is the fact that this pandemic already has me on an emotional roller-coaster, or maybe it is that the pandemic has stolen my normal. See Daddy died a couple of days after Thanksgiving -- November 27, 1993. So the anniversary always falls right around the holiday. And at the risk of sounding cliche, I am thankful. See if there was an award for making random traditions with your family around a holiday, I would be amongst the top contenders. I can throw myself into celebrating like you have never seen. And I have. And I do.

Except this year. This stupid pandemic is stealing all my normal routines, my normal go-tos for making these days about something other than the immense grief that sits on my chest. 

I miss you, Daddy.

A complete Daddy's girl.

He called me his angel. My crib stood at the foot of his and my mom's bed in the German apartment we lived in during dad's military service. I apparently learned quickly to climb the railings and launch myself onto their bed in the middle of the night so that I could sleep snuggled as close to Daddy as I could possibly get.

I never grew out of wanting to be that close to my Daddy.

I went to work with him during the summers. I waited for those days -- I loved riding beside him in his truck and helping him unload the merchandise for each store. I felt so important when he handed me his feather duster and let me clean the shelves while he made his orders for the next week. But the best part of the day, when he and I would sit down and enjoy our little packed lunch -- often a pack of Nabs (his favorite thing) and a coke. In my head, we had amazing conversations....but somehow I am fairly certain that he sat and listened as I talked and talked and talked. He was always my favorite audience.

Tomorrow marks 24 years since I had him here. Twenty-four years without him to share Nabs. And 24 years without his making me feel like my every word mattered. Twenty-four years since he called me his angel.

I miss you, Daddy. Every single day.