Yes, 18 years.
It seems crazy to me that he died that long ago.
And I didn't realize today was the anniversary of his death until after 6 p.m.
We had a good day with Hubs' parents and the kids, though it's always tough for Step-Daughter at drop-off time.
But we were almost home when it hit me.
Son was very sweet though. As I was discussing it with Hubs, Son piped up from the backseat to ask what was wrong and I told him it was because it had been 18 years since my Dad died and Son reached up, grasped my shoulder and said, "Are you OK, Mom?"
But here's one of the only pics of me with my Dad...
My Dad was a diabetic. He refused to change his diet. He was very stubborn. My Mom had to give him insulin injections. My Dad had one of his legs amputated at the knee due to gangrene. Five days before he died, he had the other leg amputated the same way.
My parents were foster parents for 13 years and had over 50 children in their home during that time.
They got me when I was almost 2 months old and they were able to legally adopt me when I was 6 YEARS old.
My Dad was the kind of man that everyone liked and remembered.
He had a strange sense of humour, wore his heart on his sleeve even though he tried to be gruff.
He drank too much and wasn't great with money but he loved me. Even though he and my Mom never really understood me -- they loved me.