and it still feels like a dream.
I still think we will hear his voice. Or laugh. Or call to come over and eat. I still think he will call to ask Chosen One to come help him with something. I still think I may pass him on the road. Or run into him at the gas station.
No, instead a newly planted tree marks his final resting spot. I pass it everyday and look his way.
Three weeks since his last hugs for his boys. Three weeks since he last kissed his wife. Three weeks since she last saw his smile.
Life is so very short.