4/22/25
My father died 45 years ago today at age 47. I was 18.
That event shaped me in immeasurable ways, and in his absence I have borne a deep wound, a hole in my heart I have struggled to fill. I am one of the few tangibles left of his legacy and have tried and failed many times over to live in a way that honors his memory.
For years after he died, I had a recurring dream. He would appear at the door of our house in Virginia and knock. I would open it and exclaim, “Dad, where have you been?”… Read the rest