The earth has gone around the sun 21 times without her. My career changed, I had another child, motherhood made me cry and I couldn't pick up the phone and call. There's been nowhere to stop by for a visit.
Answering machines were new back then. Today, I'd probably get her a cell phone and set up her email and Facebook, even if she didn't use them.
We would pack a bag and I'd drive up the coast. She'd enjoy the way the sun covers the water so completely, they're one in the same.
We'd stop at The Country Mart and sit at the park talking. She'd shake her head "no" in disapproval at the super thin women in yoga pants and the middle aged men with dyed hair. I'd take pics and tag her. We'd get clam chowder a block away from my place. The stairs would be challenging.
I'd make her bed and leave the shades open. She'd see the squid boats lit like a small village and hear the waves dancing on the shore. I might crawl into bed with her. She'd open her arm and then pull me close. I'd try not to move all night.