Grief is so weird. I've been much better lately but yesterday I cooked meatloaf. I make a very good meatloaf and my father liked it. And now I'm sad that in 20 years I never once made him a favorite dish. It is because I was staying safe but I know it would have made him happy. Actually my therapist would say I don't know it would make him happy. In theory it would have. But it would have added a lot of misery to my life to do such things. It's just bizarre what goes through my mind.