My dad died 9 years ago yesterday.
I wrote about him and his death last year.
C and I did not take the day off again but she did bake congo bars last night and I ate one this morning in his honor. Thanks, Dad.
I don't really assign more sadness to August 5th than any other day but it's kind of nice to have a specific day to write about him every year.
Since he was a baker, my family never bought regular bread. We always had fresh baked bread that he would bring home from the bakery he worked at. The most common was his version of a Portuguese white bread. Because of him I love artisan breads and dislike store bought squishy bread (down with the "wonder bread" type loaves!).
One morning I went out to my car to go to work and found a loaf of that bread on my windshield. I lived just down the street from he and my mom at the time and I knew it was from him. I was going through a tough time (I'm not sure he even knew that) and it meant so much to me to find that bread there. Like a heartfelt hug that feels warm and safe. I will never forget it.