There’s something about an anniversary—about being located in the same cosmic space in relation to the sun that you were when something significant happened—that makes you nostalgic; that makes you think about the past. And if you’re like me, it makes you feel like waxing verbose and throwing scattered memories and thoughts onto a computer screen. It’s been a year now since my dad died. An entire revolution around the sun, complete with Christmas, birthdays, and all the other celebrations and mundane days that noisily squeeze themselves into our calendar. Each of the days of the year has now happened once without my dad here on the earth to welcome it; without him able to receive my texts or laugh at my jokes or tell me he’s proud of me or hold my little boys. And I wish I could say, at this end of my first year without Dad, that I have some profound insight to share with the world; some neat little package of how-to-succeed-at-grief tied up with a bow and ready for dissemination...
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