I’ve tossed around about a hundred opening sentences–in my head–and I have to say, for a writer, I’m sorely lacking in the words department. But I suspect that’s because I’m sorely lacking in general and I’m just going to go ahead and blame the Beneficent Mr. Hall.

He didn’t intend to leave this earth on Father’s Day but there you have it. And so I’m left behind to figure out the bills ( he always paid ’em) and put gas in my car (he always filled it up) and cook for one (okay, we all know I was never much of a cook but I was on sort of a self-pity roll there). It’s no wonder that words are the last thing on my mind.

Except.

Except words have been a lifesaver for me.

Not my words, though. Yours. The kind words, the compassionate words, the loving words, the funny words…gosh. So many words! And every single one has meant the world to me. Never again will I wonder if a sympathy card or note really means anything. Or if I should say something to a friend who’s grieving.  Or pick up the phone and call, even if I’m not sure what to say.

Now, I know better.

I’m reminded of a line from one of Mister Man’s favorite songs, What a Wonderful World:

I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do. They’re really saying I love you.

Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask, “How are you?”And so I thank you for asking, for all the words that make me laugh or make me cry. They–and you–have lifted me up more than you can imagine. I kinda think the Beneficent Mr. Hall would like to thank you, too.

(P.S. I’m back at The Muffin today, going on about the steps you might want to take to get yourself into a writer’s conference. I think it makes sense, but like the girl in that commercial says, “I can’t make any pwomises.”)