I'm not allowed to miss my father.
Because he and my mother are safe and sound in
England, I'm not allowed to miss him.
Because he didn't live out the last minutes of his life strapped into an airplane, watching in horror the rapidly approaching
New York skyline, I'm not allowed to miss him.
Because his firm didn't have a New York office, with offices in the
World Trade Center, and he wasn't told to
get back to work minutes before being killed instantly, I'm not allowed to miss him.
Because the only thing that's wrong is that he's stuck in
London, and we have no idea when he might getting back, I'm not allowed to miss him.
But I do.