sueeeus

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see my niece and nephew, teenagers without a dad.  I had a dad, but he wasn’t there for me, and when I was a teenager, I especially needed the love, support, affirmation, and validation of a dad.  My niece and nephew don’t have a dad, because their dad was my brother, and my brother is gone.  Who do they have in their season of need?  Who do they have to help them navigate these teenage years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I don’t even notice this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to be there for them, to be with them, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the gaping void that is the absence of my brother, their father, their dad.  They need a dad.

And what of my own children?  Their dad is not present, and is lost in his own reality that I simply cannot comprehend.  My love is there to be a dad for them.  My beautiful man.  We are a heavy load, and stepping into a broken family, trying to pull the pieces together amidst the insanity that is our situation is overwhelming.  Navigating the emotions and perceptions and differences in opinion is so very difficult.  Sometimes it seems like it’s too hard and too painful to try to continue, but if we can step back and take a deep breath for a moment, we might see the rainbow and the sunshine and realize that we are strong enough to prevail, and that love will find a way.

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see families in which the parents are exhausted and consumed by the demands of very young children coupled with the demands of making a living and staying afloat, simply trying to make ends meet.  Thresholds are short, emotions flare.  The love is there, somewhere, but it’s nigh on impossible to carve out together time in which to nourish and replenish and edify one another.  Who do they have besides each other in their season of need?  Where can they draw strength to navigate these toddler years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I overlook this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to step out of my own chaos, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the growing void in their marriage.  They need rest.

We gather together, each of us holding our own expectations for this family time, each of us hoping we will be nourished and that this time will help draw us out of the dark places where we find ourselves stuck.  And if we don’t get out of our own heads to see the struggles all around us, we are quickly overwhelmed and nearly crushed with despair.  But if we do find a way to look beyond our own suffering, to see that we aren’t alone, we can put our own troubles into perspective, and suddenly they don’t loom so large.

When we do this, and talk with each other, we reminisce about the good times when we’d gather.  We were younger, the collective stress seemed smaller, or at least different.  We laughed and sang and played and ate and painted and played and sang and laughed and ate.  We had so much fun.  Life for all of us is different now, but we try to step away for at least a moment, and stay up late to play board games, allowing the kids to mill around us, trying to recapture at least a glimpse of the way things used to be.

These are my people.  They are a part of me.  I am a part of them.  Uncle walked through the door and I saw my dad – they could have been one and the same.  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  We embraced.  We spoke of life.  Uncle tells me how very proud of us my dad was, and how much he loved us, his children.  He explains an unfortunate nuance of Korean culture in which the fathers have burning love in their hearts for their children, but their sense of aristocratic decencies prohibit them from expressing this love.  He speaks in response to my surprise at learning that my dad was proud of us, and especially proud of me.  I never knew.  It’s a tragic cultural chasm, for parents to be unable to show or assure their children of their love.

my people

My aunt is so beautiful.  Her smile radiates.  Her love for everyone emanates.  Her name is fitting – it means Powerful Love.  Auntie’s cooking is the best Korean cooking in all the land.  All the Korean ladies want to learn her ways.  She prepared a glorious feast for her family, our family.

When the siblings and I were alone, they remarked at how talkative Daddy was – they’d seldom seen him so.  I shared with them the things  he’d told me about a Korean father’s love and pride for his children, and his reticence to express it and I realize that they have grown up much the same as my siblings and I, in the shadow of fierce love.  We have all made strides to ensure that our children, the next generation, are secure in their knowledge of the love we have for them.  This is our gift to our children.

I gaze upon my cousins – I can’t stop looking at them.  I see my own brothers and sisters, I see myself.  The pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place and I see who we are.  I see who I am.  I know where I’m from.

first cousins first meet - part I

first cousins first meet - part II

What a gift these days have been.

It’s a wondrous thing, how music can capture and convey so much heart.  I hear music, and I want to be a part of it.  I want it in me.  I want to be in it.  I want it to come out from me.  I want to be it.  Barry Manilow (laugh if you will) said it.  “I am music…”

Sometimes I feel as though I nearly am.  I feel that way with language and other things too.  Somebody once told me that is called intuition.  But I don’t know.  I just know that it feels as though I’m standing at a doorway.  I know what’s beyond that door; I can see it as clear as day.  And if only I could or would walk through that door, it would all become a part of me, and I’d be in it, and it would be in me.  I would speak forth in foreign languages.  I would play any sound on any instrument.  I would be one with music and language.

Alas.  What keeps me from stepping through that doorway?  I wish I knew.  Is it fear? Fear of failure?  Maybe.  Probably.  I don’t know.  I just continue on in my mediocrity.

There is a song that has been touching my heart lately.  It’s called “Rise“, by Shawn McDonald.

In a way, it captures some of the essence of me, and the things I’ve been going through for the past couple of years.  Me, Phoenix Rising.  I love the melody and the octave changes.

“Rise”
[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

Sometimes my heart is on the ground
And hope is nowhere to be found
Love is a figment I once knew
And yet I hold on to what I know is true

[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

Well I keep on coming to this place
That I don’t know quite how to face
So I lay down my life in hopes to die
That somehow I might rise

[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

I have few answers. There isn’t much that I really know. I’m not necessarily that smart. I’m a little bit book smart, but life-smart? Not so much. I just live every day trying to be my best. One thing I do know. I know who I am. I am kind. I am gentle. I am good. I am patient. I am steady. I am faithful. I am peaceful. I am loving. I am upright. I seek to do no harm. I am [mostly] responsible. I avoid conflict. I am compassionate. I love everyone.

Am I a doormat? Maybe. I don’t know. I’m hyper-sensitive, yes.   It’s a character flaw, and I’m working on it.  I saw a bumper sticker today that said, “Jesus was a pacifist.” I’m a pacifist. For sure.

And all I want, which is all I’ve ever wanted, which is pretty much the same thing that almost anybody ever wants or has ever wanted from the dawn of time, is to love and be loved. Simply put.

I have children. They are my life’s dream come true. They need to come first, so I don’t even know what ‘me time’ is any more. I have to be strong and steady and firm and loving for them. I have to be everything they need. Because I don’t want them to ever feel, for even a moment, that they don’t belong or that they don’t matter or that they’re not important, or that they’re not wanted. I want them to be secure in who they are and how they fit into this big, chaotic world in which we live. It’s so hard, being a parent.

What can I do, besides what I’m doing?  I just go on loving.  I go on breathing.  I go on trying.  I go on being.  I go on praying.  I go on.

What is it they say?  If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?

Things of late are resolving, bit by bit.

Sometimes when you belong to a big, strong, loving family, and you want to bring someone into that family fold, the family will guard the fortress and bar the gate until it’s understood what it means to enter that gate.  It can be formidable to an outsider; it’s basically running the gauntlet, and not one bit of fun.  Once in, though, it’s a pretty great place to be.

If you survive, that is.

Oy.

~*~*~*~

Separating the men from the boys…   …I found this circulating on the internet…

Boys play house, Men build homes.  Boys shack up, Men get married. Boys make babies, Men raise children.  A boy won’t raise his own children, a man will raise his and someone else’s.  Boys invent excuses for failure, Men produce strategies for success.  Boys look for somebody to take care of them, Men look for someone to take care of.  Boys seek popularity, Men demand respect and know how to give it.  Boys will like you for a month, Men will love you forever.

…It makes me think of this (which comes from the love standard)…

1 Cor 13:11

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away the things of a child.

~*~*~*~

I’m still shouting from the mountaintops!  I’m in love!  I am saying this carefully, and considering it deeply, measuring it against snippets of wisdom such as these:

Love is NOT…
1. Something you “fall into” – a black hole.
2. Infatuation. Emotional loss of control. “Flipped out..” “Couldn’t help myself.”Romanticism and sentimentalism. “Puppy love.” Boy-crazy; girl-crazy.
3. Evaluating another by external criteria. “She’s a #10”
4. Selfish. Interested in “getting” to satisfy my needs.
5. Taking advantage of another (age, height, weight, looks, intellect, emotional maturity,
spiritual maturity, social standings, social skills, psychological understanding, place of
authority, financial superiority, etc.)
6. Improper need fulfillment. Need for love, acceptance, relating, bonding, belonging, to be
valued, affirmed, excitement, identity, etc.
7. Lust. Hormones. Lasciviousness, sensuality.
8. Sex.
9. Idolatry. “……….is my life.” Totally preoccupied in attention and time.

Love is…
1. Respectful of the other person’s values, standards and opinions.
2. Unselfish and unconditional.
3. A decision to relate to the other person at every level – spiritual, psychological and physical.
4. Giving of oneself to the other.
5. Responsible to seek the highest good of the other person “for better or for worse.”
6. God in action. (Rom. 5:5; I John 4:8,16)

~*~*~*~

The bottom line?  My heart is at peace and it is well with my soul.

I stand in condemnation and read the words on the page that summarize conclusions about my personality, my issues, my mental state.  People who love me have taken it upon themselves to make conclusions about me, and speak authoritatively, as if they know.  As. If. They. Know.

If I rise up in indignation, does that mean there is credence in the accusations?  If I were innocent, I wouldn’t have anything to be angry about, and why would I care what anybody says or thinks?  That’s a bunch of bullshit, though.  I care what people say and think, whether it has credence or not.  THAT is one of my personality flaws.  Whether or not it matters, whether or not it’s true.  I only want goodness for everyone and for myself.  From the time I was a child, I was hyper sensitive to these things.  Always wanting to do the right thing.  To please everyone.  Not to let anyone down.  It’s the core of me.  Do I need therapy to correct that?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  What is wrong with trying to be good?

I actually HAVE had counseling for that very thing.  The bottom line:  if the manifestation of my people pleasing tendencies serve me well, amen.  If they don’t serve me well, then pay attention and be aware.  Case in point.  I kick ass in my professional life.  Kick. Ass.  People pleasing has served me well.  I’m an over-achiever.  I get things done single handedly that take entire departments to do.   Cradle to grave.  Me.  Just me.  Requirements. Design.  Architecture.  Business model.  Business case. Construction. Test. Debug. Release. Communication.  Training. Process definition.  Project management.  Change management.  Documentation.  The business. Analysis.  Diagnosis.  Troubleshooting.  Corrective  action.  Tracking.  Statistics.  Marketing. Support.  Administration. Business focal. Technical focal.  Information Technology focal.  ALL OF IT.  And my reward?  I’m respected in my field, by my peers and my management.  I’ve been promoted as high as I can go.  I’m recognized and esteemed.  It serves me well.

And what of my mental instability?  I’ve blogged ad nauseum for years.  I work through my stuff here.  Openly.

“What you’ve been through since your divorce is kind of making it seem like your marriage to Gadget wasn’t that bad after all.  At least you had some stability.  I envisioned you crusading forth like other single moms, but that’s not the path you’ve taken.”

Now that’s a kicker. The suffocating abyss in which I lived was preferable to the life I live now.  I’ve met a lot of men in the last two years, but I haven’t paraded them through my kids’ lives.  Met, not dated.  Yes, two men have come and gone in that time.  Does that make me unstable?  Of course I would rather have met the right one and stayed with him.  But I didn’t.  How the hell does anyone know whether someone fits unless they try?  So I’ve tried.  God bless me for picking myself back up, brushing off the dust, and starting over again.  So why the condemnation? Mama ain’t no ho. I’m not going to put myself or my children in harm’s way.   And even if I were drunken and delirious and high and completely blind in the moment, it would become evident in very short course, and I would snap out of it and that would be that.  So why drag someone through the dirt and invoke unnecessary pain?

I’m not trying to fill a hole in my life with somebody or some thing.  I stand strong as a complete human being.  I am good.  I am whole.  I am not broken.  I DON’T NEED ANY BODY OR ANY THING.

I want somebody though.  Want!  Not need.  I want to spend the rest of my life with one and only one man.  The rest of my life.  Every breathing moment.  I want to be a devoted and loving wife to a devoted and loving  husband.  I want my kids to grow up with a positive male influence.  I want them to have a step-dad.

Who the hell has the right to tell me I shouldn’t want these things?  It’s MY life.  My decision.

Some might call it a momentary lapse of reason.  But I don’t.  My eyes are wide open.

love monkey

My family is staging an intervention to my ‘love addiction’.  My natural inclination is to bristle with indignation for being accused and placed on trial for, gasp, exhibiting delirium and showing joy.  Of course the look on my face isn’t something they’re used to seeing.  It’s called happiness.  Because I look like a deer who is caught in the headlights, does it mean that I am blind to my surroundings?  Because I’ve been thrilled by the prospects of love at other times in my life, and ventured forth in hopes that it was indeed truth, only to learn that I was once again mistaken, does it mean that I am incapable of discerning anything?  Am I not allowed to make mistakes and learn from them?  Good Lord in heaven above, I put myself through more than enough condemnation for the mistakes I’ve made.  More than enough.  I hold myself to an extremely high standard, and of course I continue to fall short.  Yet I strive, strive, and strive some more to be better, see more clearly, be more wise, be more patient.

I understand their concern, and I stifle my inclination to be angry and hurt for the accusations put forth.  They love me.  Who can possibly ever measure up to be good enough for me?  After all, nobody ever has.  They’re protective, and I understand that.

I took the quiz.  I’m not a love addict.

In the nearly two years since I’ve been divorced, I’ve learned much.  My marriage was a legal agreement and a place of desolation.  The air that we breathed was stifling.  The space in which we moved was thick with tension.  There was no joy, no freedom, no peace, no comfort, no communication, no sharing, no meeting of the minds, no blending of the hearts.  No love.  It was an abyss, and I’m grateful to have had the strength and courage to make it end.

Of course I effervesced in the thrill of new love, when new love is what I thought I had found.  And during that rebound I found that I had compromised myself and my children, to my utmost horror.  Retrospectively, I understand that the thrill of new love was indeed the rush of infatuation, and not love at all.  I learned from that experience.  Truly.

The next time I allowed myself to get involved, the circumstances seemed different.  Two single parents, wanting the best for their child(ren) and wanting a long term, loving, committed relationship.  Again, the thrill of the prospect of happily ever after.  Again, like oil and vinegar briefly mix, it was quickly evident that there was no possible way of amalgamating our lives.

Am I an addict because in my heart of hearts and for all of my life, what I’ve wanted most was to settle down, entrust all of me with one and only one man who entrusts all of himself to me and only me,  and be a whole and loving family?  Must I forfeit that dream, because I failed the marriage that I had?  Do I only get one chance, and that chance is spent because I have children?  Of course I need to protect and shield my children.  Of course I need to edify them, and keep them safe, secure, healthy, and sound.  I am.  I do.

Why is it a character flaw for me to want to love and be loved?

I’m in love, and I want to shout it from the mountaintops!  Am I infatuated?  Of course.  Am I delirious?  Maybe.  Am I blind?  No.

Love that is real bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love, in truth, does not fail.

Does. Not. Fail.

I’m all in.

taking a chance on love

How can you possibly be three, my beautiful little boy?

my littlest big boy

How can I describe how you fill my life and fill my heart?  You have a vigor that thrills me — the way you are full on, whichever extreme it may be.  When you are happy, joy bursts from you in waves.  When you are angry, frenzy bursts from you in waves.  There is no middle ground.  You are raw emotion and raw energy.  You are unfettered and pure, and how I delight to see you experience either joy or rage, because you do it with such purity.  You are beautiful, my little one.

I love the way you demand that I snuggle with you.  I love the way you giggle and laugh and the way your eyes sparkle with mirth and mischief when you try to play tricks on me.  I love your sense of humor!

Already you have a keen sense of justice, and simply won’t have it if you think your brother is not behaving as he should.

I love the way you express yourself.  I love the way you say please, thank you, and you’re welcome.  And the way you remind me to say ‘Bless You’ when you sneeze.

I love the way you try to do everything that your big brother does.  I love your strong sense of independence.

You are bursting with life, my little man.  Oh, how I love you, with a love I never imagined possible.

Happy Birthday.  A very happy birthday to  you.

Brutus, are you excited to go see your daddy for a whole week?

How long is a week?

A night and a day
..and a night and a day
….and a night and a day
……and a night and a day
……..and a night and a day
……….and a night and a day
…………and a night and a day

Mama? Will you cry when you drop us off?

I always cry when I drop you off, Sweetie Pie.

Mama?  Maybe you should go to the neighbor’s house or go to Valerie’s house or go to your friend’s house and hang out or do something fun when we’re gone so you won’t be so lonely.

Brutus, that is an excellent idea!!! [mother delightedly embraces child]

gentle brute

Ahhhhh, my little problem solver is showing a glimpse of maturity and consideration that makes me beam and tickles me pink.  I am rubbing off on him.  At least a little bit.  He is mine, this blonde haired blue eyed sweetheart of a boy.

In Situ –  May 17th.

It’s going to be another bulleted post, since I’m lacking inspiration.  Or something.

• I thought I had a concept for a book the other day.  I played it out in my mind, and it was material that could be spun as a humorous tale.  The only problem was that it had nowhere to go.  I wanted a charming ending where the funny albeit wry bumps of the journey made it all worthwhile, but my imagination fizzled…  …however, it was very exciting to almost have a novel-worthy idea.
• I’m hoping to develop an addiction to exercise.  I’m finishing week 6 of the c25k program, and am pleasantly surprised that I actually look forward to the runs.  Who’da thunkit?
• Someone broke into and robbed the house next door to mine yesterday, and I was home and had no inkling whatsoever.  I have security cameras recording to a DVR, and retrieved some footage that might be helpful to the police.  Surprisingly, I’m not freaked out.
• I feel myself cycling back into a semi-anxious state, and need to do some regrouping and thinking over of things, in hopes of learning why this happens, time and time again.
• I stumbled upon a view property a couple of weeks ago, dismissed it, then stumbled upon it again last week and decided to take a look.  It was love at first sight, so I put an offer on it.  It’s a long shot, whether or not I’ll be able to buy it, but I’m strangely peaceful about it.  Whereas I’m anxious in general (see above bullet), I’m oddly and sincerely serene in accepting that if it’s meant to be, it will be.  Wow.

In retrospect – May 20th.

It’s been a strenuous week.

Independently of one another, my sisters and I have been dealing with a cloud of anxiety and depression that fell upon us over the past week.  We talk about these things, and speculate.  For one sister, there could be post partum influences.  My beautiful nephew, the sweetest bundle of perfection, is little over one month old.  For the other sister, there could be other health related influences, as she has adopted a vegan diet.  For me, the usual.  I’ve written ad nauseum regarding the yo-yo that is my emotional state.  We did speculate, however, that someone in the family was failing, and this funk in which we are immersed is the pre-stress to what lies ahead.

In some ways the news of my dad’s passing comes as a relief.  It’s an explanation for the anxiety and depression that has clouded us for the past week.  No longer do we have to question our individual selves, wondering “what is wrong with me?”  (I still do, though.)  It also strengthens our sense of connection we have with each other.  We are empaths, within our sphere.

My family.  Oh, I love my family with a fierce and abiding love.

~*~*~

I haven’t been able to breathe well for the past few days.  Allergies and stress are doing a number on me, and I am congested and have a headache from the lack of oxygen, I imagine.  I can’t breathe, I can’t sit, I can’t focus, I can’t stand the feel of anything on my skin.  It’s a good thing this is an exchange weekend — I dropped the kids off with their dad and I have a full evening and a day to be alone and process.

(This may be a very long post.)

By the time I finished my work obligations today, I felt like I was going to pass out from the physical manifestations of the compounded stressors.  I thought that a jog would help me to breathe and take my mind off of things.  I did a 5min warm-up, then jogged for 25 minutes straight, followed by another 5min cool down.  Yay me.  I really did it.  And it did help me to breathe (for that half hour, anyway).

Hello C25K week 7.

And then I curled up in fetal position in my kids’ bathtub and let tepid water rain on me while I cried.  (My big beautiful soaking tub doesn’t have a shower, and I had a strong urge to curl up fetal and be rained on.  I don’t know why, I just did.  And the kids are gone, so I could.)

~*~*~

The police were interested in my video footage, and a digital forensics detective came to my house to work with me to retrieve the evidence.  How CSI.  (I want to use an exclamation, “How CSI!” but I can’t muster it, except in reference.)  It took some coordination, because I happened to have had a very full workload this week, coupled with the flu-like symptoms that were kicking my @$$, as well as all the other bulleted items (see above).  It did feel good to be able to help, and it gave me a pleasant sense of community.

~*~*~

My sister told me she had a dream in which I whispered in her ear that I got the house.

~*~*~

I got the house.

~*~*~

I was serene at first (see bullets), then lost it amidst the fray of details that accompany real estate purchases, compounded with the hovering anxiety (see bullets), burglary (see bullets), and the passing of my father, in addition to that which is my life, i.e, commitments to my job, the demands of he who is two, and the challenges of he who is six.

I don’t actually have the house.  I have a verbal agreement via the chain of agents representing me, the seller and the seller’s bank that the seller’s bank will accept my offer.  My part is signed, and the ball is in motion.

Someday I may write about how it is perfect for me.  It’s small but it’s big.  It’s old but it’s new.  It’s Asian but it’s American.  I can look out any window and see salt water, trees and sky.  It speaks to me.  It’s meant to be.  It will be.

~*~*~

Some day, not too far hence, I will be able to look back on this time.  By then, these things that are closing in on me now will all be taken care of.  But in the next few days my siblings and I have to make our best guess at figuring out my dad’s last wishes, take care of his body, arrange a funeral, contact his siblings and friends, write and publish an obit, look for  a university or other appropriate place for his extensive library, and start to settle his estate.  Also in the next few days I have to choose a lender and commit to a mortgage and proceed with the remaining details of my real estate transaction.  Later I will have to get the new house ready, pack up and move my household, find a reliable renter for the house I live in now, find a good daycare for my children, and enroll my six year old son in school.  (Amidst all this there are plans to travel to Idaho to attend a 30 yr high school reunion, travel to Oregon for my niece’s wedding, travel to Oklahoma to visit my mom, grandma, and aunt, and travel to Arkansas to visit a friend. –This was going to be the summer to see everyone, and I was going to introduce my boys to their grandfather.  We were even planning to make the trip during our first available weekend, which might have been next weekend.  Alas.)

Things will settle.  By September, the bulk of these matters will be a thing of the past.  Today, this moment, it seems overwhelming and I’m exhausted (can’t breathe, can’t sit, can’t focus, see above).  I know we will all get through (barring the end of the world tomorrow, that is).

Right now, I just want to be alone, eat kimchee and rice, and say goodbye to my dad.

I’m grateful that I can be alone, this day of all days.

HCK

Hack.  The phonetic name he chose in deference to the imbeciles at Immigration who had no hope of understanding or correctly pronouncing his given name.  (He was and always has been the quintessential snob.)

“By Asian standards you are rude –understandable because you don’t know any better. –HCK, 20 April 2011”

Elegant. Charming. Original. Eccentric. Genius.  Fierce. Proud. Stubborn. Loyal.  Mystic. Recluse. Gourmet.

He didn’t refer to us as his children, but his descendants, my six brothers, two sisters, and I.  We are his descendants, and we collectively have six sons and four daughters, who in turn have three sons and two daughters.  We are his tribe, we are his clan.  In this he died a very wealthy man.

I’m starting to recognize my interesting and difficult personality is in many ways shaped by his.  I often wished that we could have had a better relationship, any relationship for that matter, but as well I can see that the very things that prohibited any sense of closeness are the things that contribute to the strength of who I am today.

From him I learned an appreciation for the finer things in life;  the best cup of tea, daffodils, garden fresh food, bone china, crystal, good leather, hard bound books.  Despite our poverty, he was impeccably dressed and always elegant, with a timeless sense of style.

From him I learned the joy of culinary adventures with exotic and intense explosions of flavor like kimchee, curry, and wasabi.

I hope the last moments were without fear or terror.  I hope he went peacefully.

I hope my brothers and sisters are mourning him gently, that their farewells are peaceful and without regret.  I hope the same for his brothers and sisters.

I’ve missed him most of my life, and now he’s gone forever.

My dad.

7 March 1926 – 19 May 2011

RIP