A Tough Day

Today is the seventh anniversary of my dad’s death. I guess the anniversaries get easier, but they are never easy. I sense dread sweeping over me every April 10^th and it is replaced by a spirit of melancholy as the morning of the 11^th approaches. Thankfully, I’m swamped with work right now, so that’ll keep me busy today, but I’m still going to find some time to pick up some flowers this afternoon and take them out to the cemetery to pay my respects.

I’ll remember a man who often seemed out of sorts while he was alive, but at the same time, who was always fully engaged whenever I talked to him. He desperately wanted to see his four children succeed. And he wanted us to find that special something that we loved to do, and then to do it with all our might.

He was great at spotting our passions and then trying to help us chase after them—whether he did it with a book about the subject, or by writing an encouraging letter, he always found a way to urge us on. The older I get, the more I realize that most kids don’t get that type of attention from their father.

He had some glaring flaws as well. But he was my dad. And today I miss him greatly.