Second row.

Tucked in my leathered aisle seat.

GC to my left, flipping aimlessly through the new SkyMall when it hits me.

Today was two years since his death.

The plane had leveled out and we were flying over darkness, that familiar incline gradually creeping higher and higher into the firmament. Pinpricks of light growing smaller, glittering far below like diamonds on velvet and I started crying.

I was thankful everyone was in their seats and that the cabin lights had been dimmed for take-off.

I could cry in the duskiness and not feel self-conscious with each passing person.

I don’t think about it as much anymore but there are times when the void is so great that it’s overwhelming.

I always think about it, sometimes longer than others but a lot when we travel. I grew up flying with my parents – perks of an airline-employeed mum. There were times when we’d sit two and one or all separately or there were times when we lucked out and got seats together. My mum was the champion of schmoozing the flight crew into bumping us into first class if it was empty – she had, how you say, the mad skills?

To anyone who loves their father as much as I did, it is hard to imagine that it has been two years since I heard his voice – or hugged him. It strikes me when we are in some random city and I am doing postcards for friends and family. I get in the groove of writing them and I catch myself nearly writing his name down on a card that I know he’d like and it hits me all over again.

He was and is my hero. I am so thankful for what he did for me and what he continues to do for me. If these words can transcend the frivolity and fun that fills my day-to-day life …

I miss him and just wanted to let someone know.

See you on the flip side (with a decidedly cheerier posting),
– GermanCityGirl

Currently listening: ( ) by Sigur Rós.

In-flight nosh: Dried apricots, snack mix with sesame sticks, and ginger ale + cranberry over ice.

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