Pasted in from today's
Wolf's Daily Howl:


Twenty years ago today was
the last Father's Day I had
together with my father.

He died three weeks later.

I'd gotten my wish. I'd prayed
that he survive his fiftieth anniversary
with my mother, and that I get one
last Father's Day with him.

I got both wishes, my parents'
fiftieth and one last Father's Day.

Generally, I call him "Daddy."

Daddy wasn't close to a perfect human being.

But beyond his human imperfection,
he modeled love, for me.

Hard to ask for much more.

At the funeral home, the
funeral director did me a
favor when I asked, even
though what I wanted was
officially against Jewish burial
law. The director enabled me
to slip the last Father's Day card
I'd given Daddy, just three weeks
earlier, into the casket, next to him.

So. . . like an Egyptian pharoah, my
father travels with my love at his side.


It's hard for me to believe that
it's been twenty years since I
had my arms around him and
his around me.

Sometimes when I dream about
Daddy, he's right there with me,
in my heart and soul.

The rest of the time, what he
taught me about life and love
travel with me, at my side.

I love you, Daddy. I couldn't
have had a better father.
I miss you, as you were
in the material world.
But you travel with me
always, in my heart.