December is a month of mixed feelings for me. I don’t think I’ll ever lose my love for winter with it’s bare, lifeless trees and gray skies. I love the feeling of staring into the dark and watching the snow fall, obscuring all traces of humanity with it’s muting blanket of pale cold, and the crisp crack of ice never fails to bring a smile.

But all of that has been overshadowed. Four years ago my father died and damn it all if I don’t still feel like it happened yesterday. He was a good man. The only one I ever met who let me be an adult and make decisions that he hated while recognizing that they were mine to make. He never once told me I was wrong, leaving any comments at the borderline of simple disagreement. I took him for granted while he was here and only since he’s been gone have I realized how much I needed someone who could do that in my life. He understood that arguing with me only drives me to do things out of spite. Stubborn.

Funny thing is: I’m still learning from him. Guess that’s the mark of a well-lived life.

I miss him. Damn.