I was going to write a blog piece about you today. It was 41 years ago today that you left the world. In thinking about what to write I realize I do not have the skill (does anyone?) to write something that truly reveals how loving and accepting you were of me, and of everyone you knew. I can state facts about you. That you were born on February 20, 1914 and given the world you grew up in, remarkably enough had not a speck of racism in your being, nor, for that matter, a speck of homophobia or anti-Semitism, none of those things.
I can say that from the beginning of my life I was safe being who I was with you. All you ever wanted for me was for me to be me, to be happy being me. I can say that when you died my ability to feel safe in the world being me died with you, or so I thought. I regained it some years ago when I got sober.
I did not learn until many years after your death that the 20th Armored Division you served with in World War II was one of the three divisions that liberated the Dachau concentration camp. You never said a word.
I have said, and quite literally meant, throughout the years, that I would give up the rest of my life in a heartbeat if I could hug you one more time. It would be the easiest decision I’ve ever made. You are the greatest gift life has ever given me.
What I can do, here, now, is again set down the poem I wrote at age 15 no more than a day or two after your death.
In All Times
In all times and in all lives
There are moments
Filled with the sincerest intimacy
You and I have shared such moments
And I thank you and love you
For those times
Anyway, Dad, I miss you and love you my whole wide world.
Always your son loving you,