Two Years Ago Today ...
He would have called, out of concern and fascination. He would have been watching the news.
"Hi, Beth! It's Dave," he would have said in his familiar cadence, having seen on my blog that I was OK. Otherwise, his voice would have been more grave. He worried for others more than we worry for ourselves.
But it's been two years, impossibly.
The impulses to call him have waned, but still present. Especially when I'm not sure what to have for dinner. We liked to talk about food.
He prescribed a lot of milkshakes, chocolate, of course, the best he could do to offer comfort from so many miles away.
But it was the listening that he did so well. He was an exquisite listener.
He still is, I suppose. Though it doesn't occur to me to talk to him directly.
But I'm thinking about him just now, thinking that today, he would have prescribed hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whipped cream, well earned from shoveling all the snow.
And perhaps he would have headed out into the Southern Californian sun to get a hot chocolate, too. A show of solidarity. Or perhaps his much-loved milkshake. Or orange juice, freshly squeezed.
I miss him instead.