My father passed away just after midnight on February 1. He had turned 82 years old on January 30. We buried him today. Friends who have been through the loss of a parent told me to be alert to signs or messages from my departed dad. They were there, in the heron I spied by a pond as our procession drove by; in the traffic on the highway; and even in the completely random appearance at the cemetery of a piece of Velcro that stubbornly stuck to my glove (I had always associated my dad with Velcro because he is the one who first showed it to me, and he used it for many things).
I’ll have a lot more to say about my father in coming weeks. For now, I’ll just say, I miss you, Pa.