Tomorrow will be two weeks without my dad.  He died in his bed, 10 feet and floorboards between us when it happened.  I never learned anything about being a man. I never asked him, and he never showed me. He told me the best movie ever made was The Quiet Man.

I miss him.  

There's a hole and a depth I never wanted.  I cried in the basement pacing and pausing in piles of his tools.

I woke up at 3 am and began to shovel our driveway.  I watched snowbanks I made color themselves blues and reds when the sun came.  Black capped chickadees started singing "swee-tee".

He was covered in foundation at the viewing, I touched his cold head and left with cheap makeup on my fingertips.

It's been a bad year.