Dear Fops:

I hope you like scented candles, like the ones I light for you every evening. I try to find scents that won’t give you a headache. God knows you had enough pain the last few years. I hope you’re eating all the best food and drinking those oversized margaritas we always laughed about, wherever you are.

I think about you more than you know. Of course, maybe you do. Sometimes as I sit on the couch in the evenings, I look up to see your smiling, candlelit face watching me from across the room. I wonder what you would make of all this – of me, of where I am, of what I am going through. I think perhaps you would not fully approve. Why complicate things so much? Then again, you always did surprise me.

You always just wanted us to be happy. You supported us even when you didn’t understand. You didn’t shout it from the rooftops, but it was there, steady and solid and quiet. There was never any doubt about your love.

I didn’t give you enough credit for so long and I’m sorry for that too. More than you know. I didn’t understand you for the longest time, and I am sad that it took me leaving all those years ago for us to understand each other.

The last time I was home, mom, S and I sat together in the living room. There’s a photo of you there that mom adorns with fresh flowers every day. A butterfly fluttered in and perched on the lamp beside your face. It stayed there for a long time as we talked together.

Did you come to visit? I hope that was you.