The most dreaded day of the year is coming
It’s the day I miss you the most
It’s not your Yahrzeit or your Birthday
Those came and went with tears and some laughter
But this Day, this Day is the worst
The black cloud of its impending arrival hangs over me for forty days before it arrives
Forty days – there’s got to be something spiritual in that
It’s the day when Fathers around the world bless their Daughters
When over the phone we could reflect together on the year we had
When no matter what was going on around us, we would zone in soul-to-soul and transcend together through your Blessing.
Alas, I know in the deep recesses of my soul that you are blessing me from Above
But it’s not the same.
And it’s not okay.
It’s not the way it’s supposed to be.