I miss the intimate support I shared with my wife over the past year as we admitted our terror to one another about our situation; I miss how proud I am of my two sons who have matured rapidly during our travails; and I miss the elixir of pure love that my daughter represents.
Last week, as I unpacked countless boxes that I had stored while in the hotel and began making a home for myself, the memories flooded through. I thought of my eldest when I unpacked my Longhorn Dad t-shirt. I thought of my middle child when I unpacked an exercise bag that he had loaned me for the trip, a bag that he used during his days as a champion swimmer. And I lovingly thought of my wife, who displayed her typical efficiency in packing virtually everything else.
