That he's not coming back. I'm never going to see him again. I don't need to talk to Lissy about what to get him for Christmas (he always loved those Sarah Brightman CDs, musical movies, good chocolates...) - because he's never coming back. He's gone. He's dead. And it's so hard to accept that but it's finally really hitting me.
He's nothing to you but so much to me. Isn't it funny how people are like that?
I miss my Papa.