I miss him. It's funny to put it that way, because I may have only seen him a handful of times over the last year, but when someone is dead and gone . . . it's a different kind of gone. January was a rough month, sort-of. I'm thankful to have been busy, but the anniversary of his death was a precarious day. Nobody remembered but me, so I kind of felt alone and sad. The real surprise was his birthday in February, where I was actually really sad. It coincided with a lady from a local bank calling me asking if they could do a prolife and feature him in their 2014 calendar of local veterans. Of course, I said yes and have been working with their author and providing the pieces of his life history. Still, some things just pop out or come about and they catch me by surprise. Like this. I'm a list maker. I have notebooks of lists, three right here by my computer. There's always scratch paper plus my phone for jotting things . . . . . . And since his death, when all of his little pads of paper came to live at my house, and I could begin seeing his lists, I see with such sweet clarity where I get my obsession with making lists.