I hope you will forgive me for reblogging this post from last year. I find I’ve been thinking a lot about my father the past month.
No one needs to comment on this – I know you’ve all seen it before. But it was imortant to me to remember him again. He’s been a lot in my heart the past several weeks, showing up in my thoughts at odd moments. It’s an old chestnut that the people you’ve lost are really never dead as long as you remember them.
Tomorrow I’ll be back with something a lot less sentimental – maybe a little murder and mayhem or a humorous twist of fate.
But, for now, I’m unashamedly and unapologetically letting my father ‘live’ again.
This is my dad. His name was James, but everyone called him ‘Jim.’
This photo was taken about five years before he died, much too young, a victim of lung cancer. It’s my favorite photo of him because he looks so happy.
Dad was a Depression kid, born into a hardscrabble existence. I think his tough past had a lot to do with the man he became.
His mother and father were miserable people (together and apart), and they went their separate ways during an era in which divorce was frowned upon. Back in those days, a man could leave his family and not provide much in the way of emotional or financial support for his kids. My grandfather was a cold, selfish, vindictive man. He left his wife with four boys to take care of during one of the worst economic periods in U.S. history.
Later, in spite…
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