SOMETHING THAT YOU MISS
I miss my dad coming home after work. No matter the time of night the telltale sign was the sound of his dress shoes on the kitchen/foyer floor when he came in the back door and hung up his coat. He would come and greet whoever was home and then heat up his dinner and pour himself a tall glass of milk (sometimes change into comfy clothes first and sometimes after). Sometimes he would eat in front of the tv but if someone was there to talk to, he would sit at the table in the kitchen.
It's the little things.
On Sunday mornings, when I leave early for church and the house is dark and everyone is still sleeping, I always think of him when my dress shoes hit the wood floors. Always.
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