This isn't so much a story but memories of connection. My dad always asked questions. I think that is what annoyed me and made me feel loved by him. When I moved out of the state connection became trickier. I used my dog walks to connect with both my parents. But when comparing the conversations my dad's phone calls were more intimate. No matter when I called him he would have a million questions to ask. He would, of course, sneak in a few stories of my sisters and nephews and sometimes about him but he always wanted to know what my husband and I were doing. That is how I felt loved by him. He wasn't an award winning father, with some of the brutally honest things he would say and inappropriate questions he would ask, but he always asked and in my heart that is how I knew he cared. Four days before he died, he asked again. This time he asked if he could come live with me if he wasn't able to live on his own. I told him he could but I would want him to take better care of himself. He was in so much pain with swollen fingers and his legs had so many, what looked like painful, sores on them. I attributed them to him not taking care of his diabetes. I am glad that was our last conversation because it made me feel loved, that he would even consider living with me. After he died, every walk with my dog seemed empty. I would go to pick up my phone to call him and then remember he was no longer here. I would call my mom but she focused more on her. Which I was happy to hear but it didn't make me feel connected like my dads. I still miss him. His laugh, his incessant questions and his smile.