No more exuberant greeting, freshly shaved face, or tender hug.
No more fist bump as he passed our pew after communion.
I never realized how much he did for me.
And now he’s gone.
What do I do with that?
He’s gone, and dad’s gone.
The tweed gentlemen…patriotic, honorable, kind.
After dad, his presence comforted.
When I hugged him, my cheek brushed his sportcoat, his cologne a reminder of good and of memories. And he always kissed and patted.
Did he know he served my heart? Did he know his kindness was precious?
I won’t again walk into church without remembering him.
The tweed gentlemen aren’t here.
but are There…