My Memory and my Crutch

I can't count how many times in the past couple of years that I have longed for my father's advice. Persevering through life's tribulations at times seems difficult if not impossible without him. I thought by now that the pain would be gone and there would be nothing but joy in the memories. Most of the time that's true, but days like today where we celebrate the virtues of fatherhood I go back to square one. Every year it's like he died the day before and a part of me dies with him again. The bond between good men and their sons can't be broken even in death. This year has proven extraordinarily difficult. I have tried my level best to live up to his example. While in a lot of ways I have, I just couldn't seem to garner his superhuman level of patience and understanding. Even if he were alive today I don't think he could give me advice to quell my problems as I've made fucking up a profession, but it would be nice just to hear his voice. Death often comes without warning. Had I got the memo, I would have taken a lot more photos and moved Heaven and Earth to take more trips with him. He never got to travel or see much, so a part of him still lives vicariously through me. Standing and staring a mile down into six million years of weathered sedimentary rock I took a moment to remember him. He, like myself, always wanted to go there. Perhaps it was fate that I ended up there right before Father's Day. My memory and my crutch. I love you, dad.