It will be eighteen years this month since you left. Yet it feels like you passed this afternoon.

You were my best friend on this Earth. You taught me how to swing a hammer, how to wax my car, how to be incredibly generous to everyone, and how to forgive without hesitation.

You’re still the finest man I ever met, Dad. If I can live my life, being one tenth of the person you were, I will die in peace.

Your last Christmas was a terrible time for you. No one would have guessed, based on your valiant attempts at friendliness, but the ravages of your disease were too apparent for people to miss.

You and mom couldn’t be diagnosed with normal cancers. No. Not you two. You both had to go and get those exotic-can’t-be-cured-sure-to-die-from-name-can’t-be-pronounced-kinds, that left you spectres of your former selves.

Yet there you sat, on Christmas day (two days before you died) wasted, frail, gasping for breath, cheerfully welcoming friends and family into your home - bestowing patriarchal-like blessings on each one from your wheelchair - seated like some magnificent biblical figure on a throne, crowned with a mane of flowing white hair.

You whispered secrets to me that Christmas. Warnings about people, affirmations of pride in who I had become, and gentle requests for more blankets - even though every one we owned was being used to keep you warm.

My mind raced as I watched you - pulled into a vortex of swirling images and feelings; Christmas days when you were young, dark haired, and strong; handing out packages, baking your awful/wonderful Santa cookies, taking pictures with your cherished Polaroid, and making everyone feel safe and secure with your quiet, albeit larger than life, dad-ness.

I could feel your strong hands lifting me - still clad in pajamas - from my bed, helping me assemble my “Mr. Machine,” taking the gift of my first razor out of the box, until suddenly I was snapped back into the moment by the feel of your aged, exhausted hand - patting me softly on my shoulder while whispering, “I love you son.”

You left two days later. Surrounded by your kids and loved ones. You breathed that one, long, last breath and were gone.

You took with you everything that was fine and faithful and safe and trustworthy about life - leaving me to discover on my own that you’d actually secured these treasures deep inside my heart for years.

I closed your eyes, gently kissed your sweet forehead, and placed your wedding ring on my finger for good.

I miss you dad. You were the best man I’ve ever known. You left a gaping hole when you passed that Christmas. But you gave my sister and me and all who loved you, so very much more by your living example and in our cherished memories that will last for a lifetime.