Cross-posted on Zero to baby:

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My father passed away from complications from lung cancer 16 years and 2 days ago. Here he is...



One year, five months, and one day from now will be the point in my life where I have been without him as long as I was with him. In my literary mind, it makes sense to me that I’ll be at the very beginning of my own fatherhood at that point.

He was a great father. I miss him.

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And, over here...

Every year, on the anniversary of my father's death, I usually go back and read all the things I've written about him in the past, and soak up the feeling of missing, of sadness, of the temporary nature of life, etc. At one point I wrote a long essay on my father, but I don't know where that essay is anymore. Probably on one of those floppy disks in storage... hmm... seems strangely appropriate to the topic. There are also several posts from the last few years (and an Amazon occasion reminder).

It's always weird going back and reading old writing. Now that I've got posts going 10 years back (here's the oldest one I have, from October 3rd, 1999) (the ones from 1998 got deleted when I got kicked off diaryland). Of course, all the links are broken, and the site that the posts were originally on is also broken. I've just been archiving each site since 1999, and am curious how long it'll be before it all gets neglected or lost or deleted accidentally.

All is vain, my pinwheel's name. Nothing is new under the sun. From dust to dust, etc.

And on the flipside, enjoy the sun, sweep the dust, appreciate the moments.