I had a moment today. A moment where I realized, yet again, I couldn't just simply "go ask my Dad" a question. Even after almost 8 years, these things sneak up on me and bring on the tears. Something as simple as an old family recipe, something that wasn't written down, brings on the melancholy.
It makes me wish I would have had the foresight to ask him questions and have him write his stories down. It doesn't matter if I had heard them all a thousand times before, I will never hear them again. What brought this on? My sisters have been talking about my Grandma Coates' recipes for baked mac and cheese and her baking powder biscuits (which is something I cannot make, no matter how many times I try). My dad was an only child. There isn't anyone to ask these questions. No one to give the answers.
I miss my dad today.