I AM 70 & I MISS MY FATHER

My father died five years ago. I wasn’t thinking about Dad as I drove to the Library to work on several communications I will deliver soon. I saw a man walking. His posture, his gait, his hat and glasses instantly activated a memory of my dad. As soon as the idea occurred that it was him, I corrected myself with the comprehension that I had lost him.

I was overcome by a sense of my loss. I miss my dad so much. My brothers Murray and Neale know this loss too, but so do our wives, because he was a gentle man and sweet towards his own sweetheart and to ours as well.

A fresh rush of gratitude fills me now as I recall that this humble soft-spoken factory line worker charmed grandchildren, nieces and nephews and friends. He was a man with whom it was natural to feel safe. He was good company, expected little, asked for nothing, had a generous spirit. If he was lonely when Mom left six months sooner, he kept this private. And then, the man who was always there when I would go home, who never seemed to change, was gone.

“Today, I felt your absence once again, Dad.”