Neither of us was running.
By the time the ceremony began, I was nervous in the good way.
Everyone took their seats.
My mom sat in the first row. Familytravel blog
The chair beside her was empty.
It wasn’t officially reserved, but in my mind, it belonged to my dad.
My father, Richard, had died four years earlier from a sudden heart attack.
He was 62.
I’d spoken to him on a Tuesday evening about replacing my car’s brakes.
Wednesday morning, my mother called screaming so hard I could barely understand her.
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