Third Sunday in June

Today is the first Father's Day that I am spending without one of the most important people in my life. It feels odd and quiet around here. Though I'd still like to think that he's somewhere watching over me, maybe enjoying a nice juicy steak off the grill while we're at it. This line from a James Wright poem, borrowed from the dedication page of Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life, sums it up best.