470

I am sick. I am in the room that you dubbed, "the cave," wishing I could sleep as well right now as you always did down here.

It's kind of awful when you can't sleep so you resort to Google searches for no reason. I can't do much else as every slight move is miserable.

It's even more awful when I search your name and all I get are the obituary notices. I'm missing you.

I found a neat calculator that says that it has been 470 days since I last saw your face.

I'm in a room that I dubbed as the "Grandpa Suite" on a bed that should be in Arizona, sick with a nasty  headcold, sick to my stomach with the tummy flu, and heartsick because 470 days is just so long.