On Wednesday December 19, 2007, my father died. He was 85 years old. As a child, I thought of him as the tallest, wisest, strongest man alive. As I grew I also learned that he was rich--not in dollars, but in love, patience, and the respect of everyone he met. When we buried him, my uncle said that he left an enormous hole, one I do not know how I will fill.
One of his favorite places on this earth was a lake up in the Quebec Laurentians. I wrote about it a while ago, and he told me how much he enjoyed the essay. So in his honor, I give you the link here.