I just finished reading a big stack of letters that people wrote to dad when he was sick and shortly after he died. Mom put together this notebook of letters and sent it to me for Father’s Day. I cracked it open the night before, as I had just returned home from traveling for work. I wasn’t expecting it. I couldn’t get through the cad that accompanied it without crying. So, I sat with the mate and cried for a while, talking about him and went to bed. The next day, which was Father’s Day was difficult, but I kept busy and helped a friend that was going through a rough time. It was the least I could do in his honor.
It’s unanimous. Dad had a huge impact on the world. He helped so many people. I’ll never forget having people come up to me after his funeral, telling me that he had saved their lives. It inspires me more than ever these days. I want to help people. It doesn’t need to be on some huge scale, and I’m not in a position to do that right now anyway, but one by one, I will have a positive impact on the world. Just by being human and having the ability to help, I feel somewhat obligated to do so. I think dad felt that way too. I’m so fortunate to have had the relationship I did with him. I don’t know a single person that had the same with their father. Someone telling me that I’m like him is a compliment of the highest order.
When I was sitting on the sofa, crying and reading the letters I stopped to count how long it had been since he passed away and it hasn’t been very long. Not even six months yet. It feels like another lifetime, which on some level it was. There was life with him and now life without him. Another chapter. Another verse.
