Wish you were here. It'll be ten years in December, and it still seems wrong that everything caught up with you at once, two years shy of your three score and ten. Still, you drank hard and smoked hard for a long time, so it was somewhat of a surprise to everyone but the doctors that it was your heart that finally failed you. You always were good at keeping secrets.

I am writing to let you know that I am finally getting my head screwed on straight. Having failed at the most recent family business, which I was probably never well suited for to begin with, I am returning to the older one that your mother and Auntie, you and Uncle Dan all worked at. As you're probably aware, the computers make accounting easier in some ways, but some things can still mess you up pretty good if you're not careful. I was never good at being careful, but now I don't have any choice.

You'll be happy to hear that your granddaughter is doing well, very well. She looks an awful lot like Mom, has Mom's appetite for reading, and is smart. Sometimes scary smart. She's a big part of the reason I'm getting my life back together, beating back the diabetes, and moving forward instead of drifting from one thing to another as I did for so long in the wake of the divorce. She's turning out to be nothing much like her mother, which I'm sure you'll agree is a Good Thing. As for your grandson, well, he's smart, but he's stuck in a rut and isn't unhappy enough with it yet to get out. I have faith that he'll come around. I'll spare you the baseball analogy that I usually inflict on people. :)

I'm still not a very good Catholic. Ironically, your granddaughter has been most active at pushing me to get my act together in that department, and she's right; going to Mass regularly does me good, and I need to start doing it again. Still haven't found a parish to fit in at, but I'm sure if I keep looking I'll find one.

I should wrap this up and go to bed. Put in a good word for me with the Big Guy, will you?