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…




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