On December 4th 1998, my father died after a long struggle with Alzheimer's Disease. He was 65-years old when he passed.
It's not easy to put into words, what one feels about our loved ones departed. What I will remember of him is different than what others remember. My mother will remember both joy and sorrow, the sad memory of watching your life partner fade. My brother might remember how our Dad taught him plumbing, how he loved the outdoors, photography and fishing. My nieces have their own memories of their grandfather, perhaps a quiet old man who liked to tease them. His friends in Bayonne might remember the dedicated plumber always available at short notice.
He was many things to many different people. To me he was a bit of a rebel . . . a bit outlaw . . . and of course he was my dad.