He's Not There

You probably made that long, lonely drive this weekend. While it's not the date, it's close enough for a working man. The sun was out today and it felt warm for a February afternoon. But chances are, the lanes you drove were empty and the parked cars few. You found your spot and stood there gazing at a name and a set of dates etched in smooth stone.

But he's not there.

You probably spoke with him quietly, telling him what has been going on this past year; a new job, a new jogging regime, emotional turmoil. Perhaps you thought about how much you miss him, how much he has missed in your life, how much you need to talk to him, how you need his advice; but he's not there.

You could have saved the gas, you know, because you will find him in your dishwater blond hair, your blue eyes that crinkle when you smile, your shit-eatin' grin and your wide Hobbit feet with their hairy toes. Look deep in the mirror, my son, and you will find him. He's there.