I lost my own father more than thirteen years ago and I still grieve -- for all the conversations I wish we could have had, for all the joys we could have shared. In some ways, I am thankful that he doesn't have to witness what I am going through now, but I know he would have been a great source of strength and solace for me. He was a gentleman -- a true gentle man -- and though he would not have understood much of what has happened in the past couple of years, he would have supported me, without so much as one I told you so.
I met my friend's father for the first time not long after my father passed away. It was the day of his oldest daughter's funeral. It was, no doubt, the worst day of his life, yet he was welcoming and gracious, so appreciative that I had flown into town. He was so much like my own father I found myself a bit off balance. The pain I felt for this man -- this gentle man -- was overwhelming. I couldn't imagine watching my father suffer such an unspeakable loss.
Over the years, I have been lucky enough to share happier occasions with my friend's dad. Grandchildren's bar mitzvahs, star turns by his youngest Chicago grandson in local plays, and plain old relaxing visits. He and my father would have been about the same age, and I've often wondered how my dad would have fared had cancer not ravaged him when he was still so full of life.
The last time I saw my friend's father, a few months ago, he gave me a warm hug, flashed the genuine smile he has never lost, and told me to enjoy the rest of my life. It made me gasp. I told him I would see him again soon.
I am glad for my friend that she was able to enjoy her father for this long, but I grieve for her imminent loss. When men like her dad -- and mine -- are taken from us, no matter how old they are, it's always too soon.
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