As it sometimes happens, with me…my normally indomitable spirit has been laid flat. It doesn’t matter how or why, but only that I had to scramble to find something to hold on to so I could climb up from the darkness. Then, I had a dream about my father; we were in my childhood home’s basement. I was standing in front of our old piano and he was standing in front of his workbench, which had been moved to the foot of the stairs, and he had his back to me. In my dream I knew he had passed, and I asked him what he was doing. He said, as he was building or working on something, “hopefully not making a mistake.” Then I woke up and remembered a post I had written right before he passed away, called “letters from my father.” It helped me rise up a bit, and I offer it to you. Read them as if he were talking to you, even if the context of them don’t fit, I hope the wisdom will.

Letters from my Father