My father passed away last October. He and I were, and in my heart still are, very close. We were best friends. I miss him every day. I could be completely myself around him, and he never took offense, or misinterpreted me. No one else quite gets me that way, and I really miss that.

But the gift of his personal inner strength and toughness is something that will live in me forever. Whether by DNA, or by example, he made me this way. I couldn't be any other way if I tried.

Just before he died, I told him about my blogging on this website. I told him that my first few blogs had been chosen for the main community page where they were on public display. I also told him about some of the great things that writing on this website has led to, and that I had decided, at this stage of my life, to seriously pursue my writing, and to make it a priority.

My father has known my whole life, that at my center, I am a writer. My telling him these things made him very happy. His face lit up as he smiled at me and nodded. I still hold that image of his face at that moment in my mind, and I will hold it forever. It feels like my father is out there somewhere, waiting for me get back to my writing.