On such a bright sunny day its funny to have death on the mind, but I do. Its been two years since my father passed away. I now have days when I don’t think of him, even in passing. Given that I had days when I didn’t think of him while alive, that’s life returning to normal.

Perhaps my greatest regret is that my children will not really remember him. They were too little. Pirate Pete will have the most memories, my Princess almost none. One of my grandfathers died before I was born, the other when I was about 10. I have very strong memories of him, and really regret he didn’t live another five years or so to get to know each other.

Like most sons I had a mixed relationship with my own dad. A lot of good in later years, some good some bad in earlier ones. He went through an alcoholic phase in my teens. Not fall down drunk every day, but would get boisterously argumentative most. It was a tough time. I coped by having a good group of friends to disappear with. In turn, he’d had a difficult relationship with his own dad.

I hope to break that cycle. I am definitely a father, not a friend at the moment. I suspect we’ll have our own tough moments in their teens (though I am no alchoholic). That’s part of the reason I regret my own dad’s death. I have older nephews that had strong relationships with my dad during their teens. Mine won’t have that outlet. Their maternal granddad is a great guy, but not one to form close relationships. So I will try to not repeat history and be the father to my sons mine sometimes wasn’t.

And so I think of death, of its necessity, but of the pain and distance it brings. My dad still lives in my mind, but is not there to talk to anymore. He influences me hugely, both in how I behave and how I choose not to behave. Yet he is not there anymore, and he is missed.

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