…… seems to be a word that stands on its own. It’s big enough to just let it sit there.
Eleven.

Eleven years since I’ve seen his face, held his hand, kissed his lips.
Eleven.

I no longer disbelieve that he’s not here.
I no longer think about calling him when something big happens.
I no longer cry when I look at his picture.

Eleven will do that to you.

I really don’t have anything new to say.
Life is good.
Our kids are good.
All six of them.
Most of you know just how huge that sentence is.
Our kids are good.

It’s been a good year full of travel, grandkids and New York.
I can’t complain.
Even when I do.

Life is good.
Even when it isn’t.

I will always miss him, just as I will always, always love him.

Eleven.
It’s so much better than one.