From One Father to the Next

Since my father passed away I find myself thinking of him daily. Sure I have his obituary hanging on my fridge; a stark reminder that he's no longer a phone call or short drive away. He is the furthest away anyone can possibly be from anther person. But I don't need that photo of him and that brief snippet, which painfully encapsulates his life in one short paragraph of near meaninglessness, to remind me that he is dead and gone.