Having a very sentimental cry about Dad. After he died, he was on my book shelf for a long time and I would say hi and bye and chat with him. Since we interred him, I just can't go to the cemetery. I feel so awful and horrible, that I left him there. I remind myself that he isn't there, he's still here on my book shelf, and at Costco when I see a nice sweater or at the store when I'm picking out fruit (that man loved fruit) or when I make caipiringas. Making cookies this week, I could hear him asking for the little ones BC the dunk in the coffee better. I know what's there is the physical part of dad and the best parts, his voice, his laugh, his being, that is with me always.
Going to have this good cry, make some tea and in the morning, make the little cookies.