You left us so suddenly.

I guess ‘suddenly’ isn’t quite right. You had been sick all my life. I can’t remember a time when you didn’t have asthma. I smile, now, when I think about the time you trapped me in the bathroom while you gave yourself your insulin shot (even though it terrified me at the time).

You taught me so much. You were strong when you needed to be, but you weren’t afraid to be vulnerable. Your family was always at the forefront of everything you did.

I held on to the loss too long, though. It was almost 10 years later that I learned to make French toast, like we had planned to do that weekend.

It snowed the day you died. The first snowfall of winter always depressed me for almost five years. Then my son, your youngest grandchild, was born. It snowed that day. The first of that winter. I love the first fall, now. It reminds me of how much you would have loved him.

I’ve often wondered if you finally got your wish: one deep breath. I like to think you did.

I miss you, dad. And always will.