It is Father’s Day. I’m flipping through the Sunday newspaper and whoa, the familiar face of a man I used to work with in the obits, dead from cancer at the age of 52. Damn.
My dad once barked at a telemarketer, “What do you mean my friends? All my friends are dead!”
Not all… but as time passes, the unwritten list grows.
My father is an old man now with hair so snow white that it caught me by surprise to see that in a recent photograph, like whoa… how could I not notice, when I saw him just a couple weeks ago?
I am, as they say, a “daddy’s girl” as I have always felt close to my father. We share common interests and a simular sense of humor. We can talk for hours about anything and everything. He has a unique perspective, an understanding in a way others miss, occasionally shares an insight on something that make me think or ponder over for awhile. He has always encouraged me, guided me, and loved me unconditionally.
On this Father’s Day, my heart breaks for those whose fathers have already passed. Farewell Mr. Wargacki.