Tomorrow,
my father would be 93 years old if he was still with us. He made up great stories, loved watching cartoons with me, helped me build a fence, I helped him move an outhouse; through the years he shared his life with me, and when he couldn't, he wrote it down for me to find later after he was gone. Near the end, I helped him walk and take showers, and listened as he shared how it was to slowly lose your body not just to age but to
Parkinson's, yet feel the same as when you were young inside.
Tomorrow, I will miss Dad, as I miss him and Mom every single day.
