L.O.L (Live, Laugh, Love Out Loud)
It’s been 3 years, 2 months and 56 days since Pops left us. Or one thousand, one hundred and sixty-two days. I can, for the most part, think about him and talk about him without ending up a sobbing pile on the ground, but it’s still difficult. There are days I desperately want to share something with him and then it hits me that I can’t. (I still say it out loud anyway. Eish, what I’d give to hear his thoughts on Marmalade Mussolini). I had a pleasant memory of him the other day, precisely when I needed it. I was tired, had just got back from work, was fed up and in no mood to adult AT ALL. I flopped on the couch, and for some unknown reason I remembered one of the many church services we attended as a family during Christmas. My family knows how I dread those interminable services, and I have tried every trick in the book to dodge them. To no avail. Me: I’m not feeling well. Ma: Come we pray for you. Me: Let me stay behind and cook lunch. Ma: