Today I am missing my Dad. His name was Peter.
He loved soccer, stamp collecting and The Beatles.
He played rugby.
He was a doctor.
He taught me how to make the World's Best Tomato and Mayonnaise sandwich (the key is the salt).
We watched Hockey Night in Canada together, even though I could never stay awake past the 2nd period.
He took my brother and I to Ottawa to see Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau in the House of Commons. And to Washington, D.C. to honor the fallen veterans in Arlington cemetery.
I cannot hear "Good King Wenceslas" without a pang in my heart.
I can still hear his laugh tinkling in my ears.
He once told me I was too sensitive for this world. Now I understand what he meant.
Me being alive because of Mum and Kevin's kidneys would have blown his mind. He would have loved Kevin. Just loved him.
He was 38 when he died. Some days I still feel like that 10-year old girl. And that's OK.
I loved him. And I know he loved me.