Lately I’ve been thinking about my Dad. He’s been gone over thirty-five years now, but he’s still with me. Maybe it’s because tomorrow my sister will be 50. Maybe it’s because Dad’s birthday was in December. I don’t know. I do know that yesterday on my way to Mass at Mt. Irenaeus a Christmas song came on the radio and it reminded me so much of Dad that I began to weep. His presence was so strong and it made me wish that I had just one more day with him. One more day to tell him how much I loved him and one more day to share all that has happened in the last thirty-five years.
Our parents and ancestors never die. We carry them with us always and sometimes they are closer than at other times. Yesterday was one of those times.