We've been receiving your messages. I know. Some people might think we're losing it but that's okay.
Haley said she heard your voice the night of November 15th. She said she heard you say you didn't want an autopsy and to take care of your dog. She wasn't certain if she really heard you or if it was her grief wanting to hear you, so we devised a plan. She told me to tell her something to ask you; something that only you and I would know. So I told her to ask you where we were at when you gave me my engagement ring. So, the night of November 16th, when dark had settled in and before she slept she asked you. "Dad. Where were you when you gave Mom her engagement ring."
She didn't like the answers you were giving her. She thought they made no sense so she decided for an instant she wasn't going to relay the messages she was hearing in her head. The moment she had that thought, she said you were more determined to have her tell me the answers you were giving her. She said it was like you were yelling in her head. The answers you gave were: Canyon, Ride, Chev, and Glove Compartment.
She awoke the morning of the 17th at 5:30 a.m. and walked hurriedly into the front room where I had been asleep on the couch. She took a piece of paper and wrote down the four things you had told her. She folded the paper in half and then knelt down by me at the side of the couch.
"Okay Mom." She said. "Tell me where you were were at when Dad gave you your ring.
"We went for a ride up South Fork Canyon." I told her. "We were in his brother's Chevy truck and he had my ring in the Glove Compartment."
She unfolded her paper and showed me your answers. It was not her grief. It was you letting us know you were still around.
I don't have the special gifts to hear you. How I wish I could. I would love to hear you call me Sweeter or Pretty One once more. I would love to hear the rhythm of your breathing or even your snore, But I can't honey. I listen but all I hear is quiet. I love you Danny. I will keep listening and if I cannot hear your voice, I will listen to the sound of a breeze through a quaken asp. I will listen to the brook as it makes it's way around bends and over rocks. I will listen to the meadow lark in the spring and the rustle of autumn leaves in the fall and the wind that swirls the know in the winter. I will listen to the things that you loved so much and I will hear you there. You fill up my senses my love. Far Beyond the 12th of Never.