I still miss my Dad.
Most of the time it's a dull ache; other times it still has bite. I do know this -- you never completely get over it. Maybe some people do, but I won't.
Fall is when I miss him the most. His birthday in October when leaves start to fall, the death date in November when the trees begin to look stark and bare. Every year I remember it like it happened yesterday. The cold, harsh, sunny day when it happened. The crushing migraine and tears. The numbness that followed.
So much water under the bridge. But, really, no time at all.