One night while tucking my nine-year-old son into bed, he asked me in his innocent voice, “Why didn’t you know that your dad was going to die?”
“I…I was only thirteen,” I replied while holding back my tears.
“I didn’t know that my time with him would be so short.”
“Well, I bet he had lots of great stories,” he said with a warm smile.
“I really wish I knew him.”
“Me too…me too.”