As of today, my dad has been gone ten years. It's hard to fathom loss in that time, because every day feels more or less the same. Somehow the loss doesn't lessen, you just get better at dealing with it.
Except, of course, on those days you don't. The older I get, the more I miss him, the more I realize how little I knew him, how much I'd still like to know. The triggers are never big things, big life-changing questions. Just small events--like Stranger Things. He'd really dig Stranger Things.
It's those little things that sadden me, but how lucky. How lucky I have been in my life to have someone I remember with so much love and so much sadness, despite my faults, despite his. Because, really, in the end, how much you love and how much you were loved are the only questions that could ever matter.