If I went there a second time I would go there to think of him. I would sit on the hood of my little red car, jeans tucked into my boots, jacket pulled tight around my waist, and think. Parked on the edge of the cliff with the cool wind whipping through the evergreen trees on the ledge, I would think of what life would be like if daddy was still here. How he would pull me onto his lap, run his fingers through my hair to push it out of my face and ask me what I was thinking. When I was little I always used to say, “I’m thinking about you daddy. I love you.” As I got older, I would say other things like toys or friends. I wish now that just once I had said I was thinking of him again. Before the accident that took him away from us. If I went to that peaceful place, I got lost in on our camping trip the day he died, I would think of him.