Ambushes

You can’t predict them, because then they wouldn’t be ambushes. You can’t say, “Come on now, I’m on my damn lunch break, crying is just not on.” You can’t plan for them. You can’t make a note on your Outlook calendar and block out some time. You think, “For God’s sake, Dad wouldn’t want me to be this broken up still,” but that just makes you want to talk to him about it, and there you are. Square one, again.