Grief is a weird thing. After six years, ten months of being without my son, of course, the acute pain has lessened.  His death is part of the fabric of my life.  I don't get quite the same jolts when something triggers a memory.

Lately I've thought about Paul more often, probably because fall is here and the death anniversary is approaching.

But I think, honestly, it's because his daughter is facing some behavior problems in school, and growing up...and he's not here.  Not here to see, of course, but also not here to be her Dad, to make the decisions I'm forced to make.  I do wonder what his view would be, as he would understand her way of thinking much better than I do.

As I drove yesterday, I was overcome by a deep, overwhelming longing to see his face, to hear his voice.  How empty I felt, how lost.

One more time?  No....I want a lifetime of seeing his face & hearing his voice.

Denied.

Robbed.