Ten years ago today, my father passed from this world into the next.
With him went the last vestige of my childhood.
Until that day there was always someone who could call me their child. Someone who I could rely on for parental advice.
If not a GPS, then my father was at least a map that I could consult with for guidance regarding the pitfalls facing me on the road ahead.
As many sons do, I was too stubborn and close-minded to learn by listening to my father's advice. I insisted on making my own mistakes; only later acknowledging that I should have heeded his good word.
Growing up, I was never without a question, and my father, was never without an answer.
Some times, he would answer: "look it up in the dictionary, encyclopedia or text book." Other times he would answer: "what do you think the answer is?" or "how do you think you could figure that out?"
But most of the time, he answered: "how would you find out the answer if I wasn't here?"
I know now he was trying to prepare me to be an adult and stand on my own and be ready for the day when he literally wouldn't be there any more.
After ten years, I'm as ready as I'll ever be to live without him - which is to say still not ready at all.
