I typed up a short text message to you the other day. “Miss you and wish you were here.” I of course didn’t hit send. Didn’t feel like getting a response back from a stranger saying, “who dis?”

I wish I could meet with you for another burger at the Sheik. I wish you could still pop in to the house when all of our cars are parked across the street. I wish I could hear about you bragging to my mom about what a good kid I was or telling others how smart I was. I never felt as good or as smart as you said, but I wanted to be.

I hope you can see me. I think you’d be proud. You’d be proud of all your kids, including those of us you “adopted.”

I am forever in debt for the missions trips you paid for. Those experiences and memories left a permanent mark on my life.

I really wish we could have had our next counseling session. Our last one was so painful. Losing you a few days after that was devastating.

Thank you for seeing me and reaching out to me. Thank you for the encouraging texts. Thank you that your love and wisdom still shapes and guides my life. You’re one of the main reasons I never completely gave up on my faith. You were more of a dad to me than anyone else on this earth. You chose to love me. Not out of obligation. Not because I deserved it. You simply chose to love me.

We all miss you and love you. Can’t wait to see you again.