This is the second anniversary of Dad’s death. I don’t remember too much about the first anniversary as, this time last year, I was taking full advantage of a morphine pump at my disposal to dull the post-surgical pain of my broken hip and wrist.
Walking up to the subway this morning, on the way to the weekly Worship Planning meeting at church, a man with a cane – looking at least as old as my father, and probably older – swiveled around on one heel and fell to the ground right in front of me. I, and a man I took to be a younger friend, helped him to his feet, and made sure he was okay. It was a jarring experience with Dad on my mind and me walking with a cane as well. I dare say the old fellow is feeling some aches tonight.
Mom tells me Dad’s tulips and daffodils have come up again this year so his gardening legacy lives on.