One year ago today you stopped breathing. I know you didn't want to die, but your body and brain wouldn't work anymore. I listened to your breathing for 10 days, and I was ready for you to stop, but that doesn't mean I wanted you to die. I treasure the last months we had together; holding hands when we walked like when I was a little girl, going out to eat, going to church and getting to sit next to you, watching Jeopardy and winning a cup of Drumstick ice cream when we knew some answers, getting more of your papers on PlateWorld, flying to my house on Christmas Eve, and having the privilege of taking care of you. I miss you and Mom every day. I can't believe we got your house all cleaned out! Mom can quit worrying. We did it! And hey, Dad, I still haven't gotten those "prickles" you promised.
I love you.