If It's Not Too Late

It's never to late son. Your spot in our canoe is waiting for you. Your paddle is still here. A piece broke off a few years ago, but it still works.   I used it to paddle down river this morning. This is the view I've had for 13 years without you. I like the one of you  sleeping in a bundle in the bow a lot better. You were always able to sleep as long as you were cozy. Do you remember the coat I bought for you for duck hunting? It was not waterproof, but it was super soft and warm. Just your style.

The last time we hunted from this canoe you were 15. We were on the Grand River. After two ducks you said, "Let's go Dad. We each got one."  We left with two ducks, two happy guys, and one dog who was not ready to go. On the way off of the water we found the channel blocked with a floating bog. Walking was tough going but you told me to stay sitting. I remember you swung your long legs out, and taking hold of the bow handle you told me, "Sit there Dad. I'll pull you. You've pulled me all over the place. It's my turn to pull you."  I never enjoyed a trip off of the water more. Miss you AJ. 

Molly's gone. You never met Doc. We got him to fill a void around the house. Didn't work. As much of knuckle head Doc  was, nothing fills your void.  I kept hunting. I always wait for you. You're stuff is laid out. You don't need long johns. Waders are warmer. 

If it's not too late, you're always welcome.  I wait for you always. Maybe you make it. I'd like to think I've never been out without you. If you were there this morning you know we each bagged a mallard. Then we left. Two is enough.