You guys might enjoy this story. I went up to Philly to visit my best friend this weekend. As I was leaving, she gave me a bag of maternity clothes she had borrowed and told me that she was giving back a book I'd given to here a few months ago. Apparently there was an inscription in the book from my dad, or someone's dad. I was flabbergasted. As I pulled the book out of the bag and opened to the front page, I saw his signature, "Dad." Sure enough, it was from him, dated 11-15-87. I was nine years old and my parents had just told me they were getting a divorce. Seeing his name, as I knew it, on that page brought back a slew of memories, both good and bad. But at least I wasn't remembering the cancer, the empty shell, or the weeks of downward spirals. The timing was no coincidence. It's been over a month, and reality is starting to set in. He's really gone, for good. But this gift, twice given, has brought a piece of my dad back to me, a piece buried and recovered.
Just thought you might enjoy the story.
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