I went to my parents' house today. I'm not sure if I can ever get used to saying my mother's. I find myself walking around checking to see if the little pieces of my father are still there. His glasses on the dresser. His boots. His wallet...with some cash still in it. His banjos and guitar still hanging on the wall. I found a birthday card laying on the end table in the living room. It was for my mother who's birthday was on August 26...his signature on it with the little xxx's and ooo's he always put on.