It seemed like yesterday “Dad” showed up on the call display.
Dad showed up at the kid's birthday party.
Dad found every ounce of strength to shake your hand and congratulate you, or give you a hug, kiss, or his nod of approval.
Dad may have pushed you to your brink, or peeled you off of the floor.
Dad bugged the hell out of you on most days when he was here.
Sitting in the corner of the cupboard, Dad’s belongings sit untouched. His glasses and his work badge. Two years later.