MY OLD MAN

My Dad died on Thanksgiving Day in 1985. It sort of
put a damper on the holiday for all of us.Worse still,since Thanksgiving Day changes every year, we
are also faced with the actual date of November 22nd.
We avoided having the big T-Day dinner at my sister's for many years because that was where we were all
together for the last time. We'd eat at my brother's
house or at our apartment. One year we ate at a
restaurant at Plymouth.
Then Mom died, and I shuttle back and forth between
Cheryl and Phil on holidays.
It hit me yesterday as I sat talking with Paul.He
has these rods screwed into his leg, holding it
together while he heals. He was only 6 years old
that last day his "Grammpy" was there. Mike was
less than a year old and has no memories of his
grandfather roughhousing with him like his brother
and sister do.
Dad would have been very proud of Paul. As would
my Mom.
19 years. What I wouldn't give for a few more
minutes.
I have forgotten what his voice sounded like.