Today would have been my husband's 70th birthday. It's not clear which is harder to comprehend: that he'd be that age, or that he's been gone 20 years.
"70" now isn't the "70" of when I was growing up, I know. Still, that number just doesn't fit him.
We miss him every day. We talk about him, we laugh about him, we wonder what he'd be like now.
We miss him every day.