My father died at age 38. I am 40.
He was riddled with diabetes, an alcoholic and there was speculation as to his drug abuse...
Hmmmm...the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.
I recently read old letters of his. They were full of joie de vivre...spectacular and remarkable.
Connected, yes. Suffering both from chronic illness. Yet I am determined to beat this beast.
When I read his letters, I was amazed by our similarities...His address book a carbon copy of mine. Messy, jumbled and cluttered. And yet it filled me with joy. To have this connection with him...
It's been almost 30 years since he died. And I still miss him.
Do we ever forget those we love?