Yesterday was Mom's birthday. Tomorrow is the anniversary of Daddy being killed by terrorists. I always feel weird on April 17th, between joy and sorrow, delight and despair, betwixt and between. My main wish is that I'd had time to say goodbye, that I'd known he was going to die. However, being with people who've had that chance has shown me.. it doesn't help. Yet I regret that more, sometimes, than I even miss him.