MEMORIES of my Dad

I had to take my sweet little puppy to the Vet this morning and on my way back home I drove the route I used to take when my dad and I would be returning to his home from visiting the Blessed Sacrament. I remembered every thing he used to tell me as we drove past the house with the roof he liked and the little church he never remembered being on that street, and the fruit and veggie store he'd buy the chile pods he used to make the BEST chile no one can copy. Of course I began to cry as I drove away from his home, as I invisioned him sitting on the porch and waving good bye to me as I honked the horn as he did when he left my home. I'm crying now as I write this. It happens a little less often, but these days of Lent are going to be really difficult because Lent was his favorite time of the year. He'd pray and sing the chants of the Stations of the Cross. I have his prayer and song books that he left to my oldest son. I'm supposed to translate them, I will someday, crying at every sentence.