I can’t believe it.  In the last month I have published three substantial pieces about my dad in this blog.  Yesterday, in the midst of writing the third one, Swimming with my dad part one,  I began to wonder why my dad was so much on my mind.  My writing stream went dry just before midnight, when I looked at the computer and realized that it was my dad’s birthday!  To my horror I also realized that I had forgotten my dad’s Chesa, the anniversary of his death on September 17th!  And all the time thinking and writing about him…

Dad died twenty-five years ago this past September 17th.  He died on David’s two-month birthday, so I will always remember how long ago he died because it is the same as David’s age.  David is twenty-five now (see?).  So this time of year is my “Dad’s corridor” , because I usually go to Mount Auburn cemetery to visit his grave on September 17, usually with Carol, David, or Jonny, and go there again on October 20th for his birthday.  It is easy to remember his age, because he was born in 1920.  He would have been 94.

(Usually around his Chesa my mom or one of my siblings sends an email to the family, not a big deal but just an informal nudge.  For some reason no one did it this year…)

In between these two special days are the most beautiful days of the year, with the autumn leaves exploding with color and falling gently to the ground.  Usually I make it a point to drive the country roads during this time, with the most striking ones being the ones that are narrow enough to have trees hanging over them from both sides, a corridor of color, my Dad’s corridor.  This year I did not do this quite as much as in past years.  Why? Because the weather has been iffy and the sun hasn’t been showing off the leaves as well?  Is that the reason?

It is so ironic to me that I forgot Dad’s Chesa because I was preparing furiously for my Eureka moment talk, when I told my college classmates in four minutes about his Nobel hopes for me, about David’s birth, about his forgiveness and his wisdom.  I gave my talk on September 20th, three days after the Chesa.

What does all this mean?  Maybe that my dad has been so alive to me this past month, that I forgot that he wasn’t.  He gave so much of himself to make us, his family,  what we are today that he will never, ever be dead to us.  And every year I can look forward to my loving journey through my Dad’s corridor in time.