“Je m’en vais chercher le grand peut-être.”

Well Dad, it has been 11 years now; for Mom next month will be 18. It all seems like a lifetime ago now, and yet even now just a passing thought can bring it all back. I suppose that’s to be expected though.

Of course your hat — a fedora, is it? — and Mom’s dammit doll still have pride of place in my living room, and your cemetery is little more than an hour away. I guess it is little wonder that you are both still in my thoughts, even now.

May 12, 1927 to Dec. 16, 2008. Gone, yes. But as long as I draw breath, never forgotten …

P.S. Props to François Rabelais.