Wish You Were Here

Dear Dad-
It's raining today, just like it was a year ago when you died. Last night I parked on the same street I parked on a year ago, that night when I got the phone call from Brendan and stood on the steps of a rowhouse in the rain. I passed that house last night and it gave me the chills.

I've learned a lot since that night. I've learned that when you say goodbye to someone, it might be the last time you ever see them. I've learned that much of life is sound and fury, signifying nothing. And that death don't have no mercy in this land.

I have plenty to be grateful for but I wish you were here.

Wendell Jones
July 21, 1937-April 3, 2008