Remembering

I suppose it's become kind of a ritual for me, blogging on the anniversary of my Dad's death. Today marks four years.

When I did Dad's eulogy, I ended with an poem by St. John Chrysostom (adapted for gender):

He whom we love and lose
is no longer where he was before
He is now
wherever we are

My Dad is with me when:
1) I see the shade of baby blue that reminds me of his eyes
2) I look at my son, who looks so much like Dad
3) I eat strawberry shortcake 
4) I am stubborn (um, way too often)
5) I seek fairness
6) I take delight in cooking
7) I see the birds that he taught me to recognize when I was a kid

I suppose that the best we can hope for is to be remembered fondly once we are gone.  I think many "important" people don't make this cut.  My Dad, ordinary bloke that he was, did.