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Two years ago, I lost my dad. I let go of his hand and watched him drift away. After he passed, I got a bit of help in finding myself. In the last moments of my father’s life I recalled the last conversation I had with him. The conversation ended something like, “Okay, I gotta get going. I’ll call you later” (I don’t recall the reason I had for cutting the conversation.) The the next communication I could have had with him, I will never know… but instead, I have a short voicemail message, backed up in triplicate on my computer. “Hey Son. Guess you’re busy. Give me a call when you can and we’ll talk soon!”

At the time, I didn’t think waiting a bit to call him back would be a big deal. I thought wrong. I’ve wondered over the course of 24 months, what that conversation would’ve been. I probably won’t ever know.

After all, death has a way of changing a relationship. Heaven and Earth pay-as-you-go Minutes are ridiculously expensive and, If you do get through, nine times out of ten, they’re driving through a wormhole and get disconnected. You’d think that the ‘Other Side would have excellent coverage… but there are a surprising number of dead-zones in the afterlife. I did find a work-around though. We talk sometimes. The conversations are usually a bit one-sided. But there’s still a bit of a connection. I guess if I said I heard him talking back, you’d have me committed. Wouldn’t you Journal? In the first few weeks it was a bit different.

When I went to bury my father, I was completely lost. Searching for meaning and purpose. On the way back, I found it. Two years later, I have my first book. I’m continuing to advance in a career that I’d never thought I would have. And though I’m still a bit lost, I have meaning. I have purpose. I have the drive to accomplish what I’ve set out to conquer. And though my father has passed, he is still here with me in many ways, even if we’ve let go for now.

Thanks Dad. And happy two years. Hope you’re settling in.