When my father was a dentist in the small western PA town of Patton, there was just one diner in town and it was conveniently located just two doors down from my dad's office. It was Betsy's Diner, and dad would always sit at the counter because he never took the time to have a leisurely lunch at one of the tables. He usually had the same thing - a BLT and water with lemon, no ice, as I recall.

For some reason, my father is really on my mind and in my heart these days. He crossed the thin veil in 2010, and my mother joined him five years later. I know that Betsy died sometime in the 1970's, and her once-busy diner is now a gun store. My father's office is a convenience store, but the storefront looks the same - especially the beveled windows that once looked into a crowded waiting room.

I know that everything is meant to change. That's what we said yes to when we arrived, and nothing about it is ever out of place. But for this moment in time, I'm sitting in Betsy's diner, waiting for dad to open the squeaky screen door and join me for lunch at the counter.

Maybe today we'll sit at a table.