He is a lurker. Not a stalker. A lurker.
He lurks in the back of my brain. He teases me. He yells at me. He smiles at me.
He hides in the anonymity of a passing semi-truck.
He sits on my porch and watches the sun set and the clouds turn pink.
He groans at every pun and tells me he could have done better.
He hears every word that I write, every throw of my shuttle, every click of my camera, and every note that I sing.
He praises (and scolds) my daughter.
I don’t know where death took him, I don’t know if I can ever find him.
So I let him lurk, in the back of my brain.
Today he would have been one year older.
Today (a little more than other days) I am missing him.