Every Easter at noon, my phone still rings.

I answer before the second ring.

Not because I am waiting for another emergency.

Because I spent years learning something Zachary never understood.

Love is not knowing where someone is every minute.

It is not controlling the passwords.

The money.

The clothes.

The doors.

It is not demanding proof of loyalty.

Love is being the person someone can call when the truth becomes frightening.

And when Hannah finally called me that Easter Sunday, she did not need a colonel.

She needed her dad.

So that is who I became.