The timing of things in life makes you wonder if there actually could be somebody named God up there in the clouds, jerking our chains and laughing at us.
Why would I hear from Dad now? Why today of all days when I have all this other stuff happening?
I pull the letter out of my drawer and set it on my bed and flash on my bottle of Bacardi in my closet. How can I not have a drink to help me get through this? But Mom is home and maybe I need a clear head, so I pass on the booze, for now anyway.
I carefully pick-up Dad’s letter and stare at the envelope. It’s got a Canadian stamp and postmark on it from Alberta, Canada. I look again, longer this time at his name, ‘Dan Mender’ hand-written in the upper left corner.
Is this my dad’s handwriting?
I trace my fingertip over the ink, take a deep breath and tear the letter open:
