Dad

My father died 25 years ago today. He was 56 at the time and I was 23. I've been without him longer than I had him.

I'm not sure, at the moment, what I have to say about him that I didn't already say in an earlier post. Still, it's an important milestone, a reminder of the fragility of life and the passage of time.

25 years gone, and I still miss him and regret that he never got to meet either my wife or son. It's a shame because they would have liked him and he them.

But life goes on. There is always a hole inside you that used to be filled by the presence of the person who died, but you almost get used to that emptiness, because, if you didn't, you'd end up in a padded cell. And it would be a world full of people in padded cells.

I miss you, Pop, wherever you are.