Three Years.

Dear Papa,

I miss you.

Sometimes it still feels weird.

Like, you should still be in the living room watching Green Bay when I come over.

Like, your garage should be potent with that distinct old car smell.

Like, I never quite got to say all the things I wanted to.

 This is the last photo of you we have.

I don't know if anyone else saw it.

But I found it on your camera the other day.

Were you going to buy that car?

I'm assuming you were at a car show, per usual.

And you didn't have a pen and paper.

But you had your camera.

I'm really glad your reflection got caught in this frame.

I love that I can see your shades.

And your white mustache.

And your little hairs on the top of your head.

I hope you're in Heaven.

I love and miss you to the moon and back.

Your Mouse,

Chelsea