Four years. Exactly four years.
Four years since I lost the most wonderful father anyone could hope to have.
But was it four years back that I lost him? Didn’t I actually lose him the day he stopped recognizing me?
And have I really lost him? Isn’t he still around? I can feel his approval when I do something really well, and I can sense his anxiety when I am in trouble. He is as much with me today as he ever was.
It has been four years. But four years since what?
Four years since he breathed his last.
"Pops, I can try to convince myself otherwise, but I can't stop missing you."