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He told jokes so badly that he usually began laughing before reaching the ending.
Music played constantly inside our home.
Old soul records on Sunday mornings.
Jazz while he cooked.
Classic rock whenever he repaired something in the garage.
Mom used to say Dad was incapable of experiencing silence without trying to improve it.
After her farewell service, the house became painfully quiet.
The record player gathered dust.
Dad stopped singing.
He ate dinner in front of the television without actually watching it.
Sometimes I came home from college and found him sitting in the dark living room with one lamp burning beside Mom’s empty chair.
Relatives encouraged him to meet someone.
Friends invited him to dinners where a single woman always happened to be seated nearby.
Dad declined every invitation.