The death of my father is nearly a month
away – 31 years. The haunting of longing
has begun. The end of his life was nothing
like the fullness of it. How apropos he
died in the fall, his favorite time of the year.
What do I miss most? Perhaps the way he clasped
his hands together after the good-bye hug and kiss
on our necks as if another victory – a triumph of love –
had been won. The visitation this year, early, has begun.
-Byron Hoot
