“I miss Daddy. I wish he was here.” My 11-year-old daughter, LG, says this a few times a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
“Me, too.” I say, and we hug and breathe deep for a minute or ten and move on with our day.
And so it goes, this business of loss and grief. Sometimes it surprises me just how much I miss my husband. It shouldn’t, he was the one person on earth I promised to share my life with. And one morning, I woke up and he was gone.
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