Today was a rough day. Not just for the frightened young customer who ran into the library. Not just because we had to call the police. Those things made for a challenging day; not being able to call my dad and talk about it has rendered it painful.

I want so badly to frame the situation and my response with him, to hear his perspective as a former police officer and a psychologist. I want him to tell me what I could've done better and tell me what I did well. I want to hear him scorn the officers' impatience and political timidity and explain what that young customer might have been going through.

There is no one else I can call about this. No one else possessing that particular batch of experience and wisdom, who is both forbearing with my faults and eager to be proud of me. And since he and I never really discussed these particular issues, I can't even project my memories of him into an imagined conversation.

It's been two years since he died, and I am still encountering situations where he is needed, where all I can do is swallow an entire conversation into silence and mourn, again, the loss.