In the four years since my father passed away I have thoght often of his final months. I can still see the once tall and powerfull man gone gaunt and loose in his clothes. His skin was translucent almost but his eyes were filled with wit and humor and untold jokes. It was as if he lingered for me to see his pain and that I'd be more at ease with his final passing and not have to suffer the shock of sudden loss. The night before Dad died I was working in the Jewelry Shop and Dad had gotten up and shaved and dressed and sat in his chair to read the paper. He looked "in his place" and at last comfortable. That is how I have my last memory of my Dad. The next night when the family gathered we talked and some of us cried. Toasts were made and photo albums retrieved. We fired a signal cannon at 10:00 PM and all the neighbors came to the house to visit. I am close to my Dad in the silver shop when I am working late at night. I can hear the soft footfall and feel the breath on my neck and at times I feel the master's hand on my own.

I miss him.

Don