Sarah, the girls and I are taking it easy, playing cards and laughing together after lunch before I retreat to the sofa for a nap.
Later, I turned on the Spring Day football game ... really a practice ... for the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia ... sent text to my son and daughter ... and ...
call my Mom.
She isn't watching the game because she doesn't have the elaborate and more expensive TV package allowing all things College football.
Sarah, indeed, loves me a lot.
"I wish Dad were here," I say to Mom. "He'd love this."
My sister Angi starts posting her feelings about the game online and I imagine she's thinking of Dad too, as she has his ashes and pulls them out for all UGA games, opening a beer beside what's left of him to enjoy.
Jeremy and Chelsea send text.
Sarah rolls her eyes.
"He always loved it when you called to talk about whatever was happening," Mom says and I can see him sitting in his chair in the elegant "Man Cave" she made him, staring at the television and dissecting whatever it is we've seen.
I would have really liked to do that again yesterday.
One of the funny things about working with the dying is how much it reinforces the love of living while you got.
"Let's go for a bike ride and check out Orange Crush," Laurel our 12 year old says.
"The game's not over," I say pointing to the television.
"Aw come on," she coos.
So we pump air into the bicycle tires and glide into the thong of College students, police officers, elected officials monitoring the situation, frightened white home owners and the unafraid ones too, sitting in their yards instructing kids where to park.
"Dad would love this too," I say out loud.
"What?" Laurel asks.
I smile at the beauty of a 12 year old becoming a woman.
"I said my Dad would've loved you."
She smiles and my eyes grow moist.
Anyway, I missed my Dad yesterday.
Somehow I know that he knows.
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