I visited my father's grave a couple of hours ago. It was overcast, cold, windy, and raining slightly. An almost complete reversal of the weather yesterday, which actually resembled a hot and sunny day in early July.
I said some prayers there, looking at my father's photograph, a good one which shows him at his best, and as he was in his final years, still a handsome man. The photo is about six inches high and 4 inches wide and thankfully its colours haven't faded yet in those thirteen years.
When I had finished praying I laid my hand on the dark polished granite, as I always do, telling dad that he is not forgotten.
I can only continue my life till I, too, arrive at the end, and I can only hope that I live it as decently as my father lived his. That, and hopefully being able to fulfill a couple of crucial goals I have set myself. I asked and got so much help from my father - and my mother, of course - during his lifetime. Would it be selfish to ask him to help me accomplish those goals from beyond death? Perhaps it is. At the same time these goals are not exactly for my own benefit, so perhaps it's not so bad after all.
My father. What an example. Even thirteen years after his passing.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."
~ Psalm 23:4 ~
Rest in peace dad. You are not forgotten.
MFBB.