Sunday Night at the War Memorials

by Linda Abbott

It was a cold brisk night in Washington, DC, when I boarded a bus for an illuminated tour of the nation's war memorials. Walking in the darkness on this sacred ground the night before Veteran’s Day, the tour took on even more significance.

As we pulled up to the World War II Memorial, we knew we were in for something special. I’m sure it’s lovely during the day, but at night it is breathtakingly beautiful. The size, grandeur and emotional impact of those pillars, gold stars and the rush of water from the fountains are overwhelming. We walk quietly around the colonnade, dwarfed by those granite columns, silent tributes to the thousands of young men who died on the beaches of Normandy, in farm fields of Germany, on islands in the Pacific.

We speak of the passing of this great generation, and there is a catch in our throats. The sadness lingers. They were fine young men, decent, courageous and humble.

On the tour a woman tells me of her father, who passed away two years ago. A WWII veteran, he looked back on the war with regret because he only served a few months before the armistice was signed and didn’t feel like he contributed enough. Yet his job was to help transport thousands of wounded soldiers to medical facilities and he did so with compassion, always trying to lift their spirits and give them hope. “He would have so loved to have seen this,” she said wistfully.

At the Vietnam Wall the emotional impact intensified. There is no brilliant lighting or soaring columns, just a somber and lingering darkness and all those names. More than fifty-eight thousand of them, engraved in the black gabbro stone.

Unlike the World War II Memorial where the numbers of war dead are represented by gold stars, here you see the name of every young man whose life got caught up in this terrible conflict … and you wonder where would he would be, would he have had children, what would have become of all those lives that were snuffed out. And although they are gone, they’re still living in the hearts and minds of their loved ones . . . because at the base of the wall are flowers, notes and other mementos left by people who came here to pay tribute. There are the names of eight women here as well.

The wall starts low but rises as you reach the apex, until you suddenly realize it is towering over you. And that is its power. It pulls you in and doesn’t let you go.

Our tour guide tells us about the controversy over this design but tonight those are distant concerns. After being riveted on the names for several minutes I look up, and it is as if there is an invisible thread from where I am standing to the Washington Monument. A luminous half-moon completes the canvas. We realize our time is running out and we need to move on. Even though it is getting very cold, we are reluctant to leave.

Darkness also reigns at the Korean War Memorial, where nineteen sculptures depict solders on patrol in rough terrain in a combat zone. Tiny spotlights in the bushes cast an eerie glow, giving them a ghost-like appearance. Like many people, I have little knowledge of what is known as “the forgotten war,” where more than 54,000 Americans lost their lives in the span of three years. On a wall flanking the sculptures, more than 2,000 photos of the personnel and equipment engaged in this bloody conflict provide a window into the enormity of this war that tragically began and ended at the 38th Parallel. A Pool of Remembrance, strewn with golden leaves, pays tribute to the dead, missing and prisoners of war. Etched into a wall of granite are these words: Freedom is not free.

In a grassy area in the midst of these memorials, several large wreaths lie on the ground and a stage has been set up. Tomorrow there will be dignitaries, solemn ceremonies and people coming to pay their respects in the brilliant light of day. But tonight, it’s just us and these soldiers. We will never forget.

The Best Time to Write Your Life Story Is Now

by Linda Abbott

A show of hands, please, for everyone who:

• Survived Covid and Hurricane Ian.

• Has children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

• Loves to learn about their ancestors on Ancestry.com.

I suspect that in my imaginary room, more than 90 percent of hands went up. Now here’s where it gets interesting.

How many of you have captured and preserved your memories and stories for your loved ones and future generations, or made your personal legacy a pillar of your estate planning?

Not seeing many hands; that’s a problem, and here’s why.

I believe one of the biggest mistakes people make in their retirement and estate planning has nothing to do with money. The mistake is not bequeathing their non-financial assets—family history, wisdom, beliefs, and values with their loved ones and future generations.

I learned the hard way that life can change in a nanosecond. On a beautiful September day in 2009, my 74-year-old father—a hard-working, vibrant, and healthy (or so we thought) man—died suddenly of a heart attack. The idea of writing down all of the entertaining and heartfelt stories he regaled us with for decades had never occurred to me because, apparently, I assumed he’d be around for years.

Since then, I’ve met dozens of people with similar experiences. When I tell them I write life stories, they say wistfully, “I wish I would have met you two years ago.” Or three years ago. And then they tell me about their beloved grandmother, grandfather, mom, or dad, who passed away, and all the cherished memories and family history that they took with them. Their regret is profound.

Interest in family history increases as we age. A retired successful entrepreneur once told me, "When I was younger and building my business, I didn't have time to think about my family history. Now I do, but there's no one left to ask." His regret was profound.

So my message to the world is this: Now is the time.

The stories we share about our lives—our challenges and achievements, hopes and dreams, values and beliefs—connect us more deeply to one another.  They can be powerful motivators to our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  And seniors and retirees find the journey filled with joy, love, and laughter.

Don’t be daunted by the task. You don’t have to write a 100-page book or finish it in a few weeks. You don’t even have to sit at the computer and stare at a blank screen. Starting can be as easy as taking out your cell phone and recording voice memos. Here are some ways to get started:

• Talk to your family and friends; they will remember stories and people you haven’t thought of in years. This part can be really fun! Your trip down Memory Lane is a terrific opportunity to reconnect with your children, grandchildren, family, and old friends.

• Immerse yourself in the past. Take out old photo albums and watch vintage family movies. These “memory sparks” will help you recall more of the past.

• Throw out the rule book. Your life story can be as long or as short as you like. If you draw a blank about where to start, you don’t have to start at the beginning. Instead, share a story you love to tell, something familiar.

You’ll never regret taking the first step on this journey, and your loved ones will cherish the thoughts and remembrances you leave behind.

Linda Abbott is the founder of Never Forget Legacies and splits her time between Bonita Springs and Middleton, Wisconsin.

One of the Biggest Mistakes People Make in Estate Planning Has Nothing To Do with Money

by Linda Abbott

On a recent walk, I saw a park bench with a plaque honoring a mom and dad who recently passed away. Thinking about this married couple touched my heart; the bench was a gift from their children. In a secluded spot on a beautiful pond, I sat there, enjoying nature, the birds, wildflowers, and took in the moment.

As an author who writes life stories, of course, I wanted to know more about them. I wondered if they had captured and preserved their cherished memories, beliefs, and wisdom. I hoped so because if they did, their children and loved ones would treasure having this enduring legacy. If not, sadly, all of that family history is lost.

Many families just have a park bench. Or their name on a building or a scholarship. There's nothing wrong with that. But I believe one of the biggest mistakes people make in estate planning has nothing to do with money. It's not taking the time to create and share their personal legacy with their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and future generations.

"CEOs and business leaders often think their legacy is about giving away money," said Ari Galper, CEO and Founder, Trusted Authority, and author of Unlock the Sales Game.

"But the story of their journey is never captured and shared,” Galper said. “A legacy book isn't an ego thing. It's a deeply personal gift to themselves and their families. It's about reflecting on their life and taking stock of all they've accomplished, the sacrifices they made, and the beliefs that powered them through."

If the thought of writing a book is overwhelming, an ethical will—also called a legacy letter—is an excellent way to convey your values and beliefs to your children and grandchildren. Despite its name, an ethical will is not a legal document. Ethical wills also are written to express hopes, dreams, and blessings to present and future generations. A great resource is Ethical Wills, Putting Your Values on Paper, by Barry K. Baines.

The stories we share about our lives—our challenges and achievements, hopes and dreams, values and beliefs—connect us more deeply to one another. People find the journey filled with joy, love, and laughter. Many baby boomers and retirees understand that their personal legacy is one of the most valuable assets they will pass on to their loved ones. This is especially true as they grow older and gain a renewed appreciation for the bedrock beliefs and values that guided them through good times and bad.

One thing is clear: Whether it's an heirloom legacy book, a transcript of voice memos on your smartphone, a heartfelt letter, or a scrapbook with snippets of memories and vintage photos, your children and future generations will cherish the thoughts and remembrances you leave behind.

Every Life Has a Story to Tell. What’s Yours?

Linda Abbott will present “The Joy of Life Story Writing” at 2 p.m. on Tuesday, January 17, 2023, at the Bonita Springs Public Library, 10560 Reynolds Street.  A Q&A follows the free 45-minute program. 

Abbott will share tips, tools, and resources to help individuals write their life stories or capture and preserve the memories of an elderly loved one.  Participants also will learn about techniques such as memory sparks and timelines to recall more of the past.

“Writing your life story is a wonderful journey filled with memories, joy and laughter,” said Abbott, founder of Never Forget Legacies & Tributes.  “A life story book is the gift of a lifetime to our loved ones.”

For more information or to register call the library at 239-533-4860.

Unraveling the Mystery of the Woman in Red

by Linda Abbott

Arriving at our vacation rental in the beautiful Green Hills area of Nashville on a crisp October evening, it was clear that in addition to finding comfortable accommodations, we’d stumbled into a treasure trove of memories.

Jeanne Bachrach Kimball

In a large bookcase spanning the entire wall were dozens of scrapbooks, several very old, looking like they should be under glass in a historical society or museum. In the dining room, a stunning almost life-size gilt-edged portrait of a young woman hung on the wall. Wearing a beautiful red dress and elegant corsage, she was young, dark-haired and beautiful, and apparently from a family with the means to immortalize her on canvas. I immediately wanted to know more about her.

I found out her name is Jeanne Bachrach Kimball and she lived in this comfortable duplex—an addition to her daughter’s home—for several years before her death at age 96 in 2010. Her daughter, Holly, who with her husband, Barry, and son, Daniel, are talented and accomplished musicians, told me that her mother came from a family of well-known photographers.

Bachrach Studios, established in 1868 by Jeanne’s grandfather David Bachrach Jr., would go on to enjoy great success and photograph every U.S. president for the next 120 years. Bachrach took the only photo of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, which lasted 90 seconds, just long enough for his boxy wooden camera to make one exposure. Jeanne’s brother Louis Fabian Bachrach Jr., who passed away in 2010, had a storied career as a photographer of presidents, politicians, and celebrities. He is perhaps best known for an iconic portrait of a young Senator John F. Kennedy. A graduate of Harvard who served in the Navy during World War II, Fabian Bachrach photographed Richard Nixon, Indira Gandhi, Joe DiMaggio, Robert Frost, and the infamous Haitian dictator, Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier.

But what of this young woman whose picture dominated the dining room and occupied my thoughts every morning over breakfast. What was her life journey? More than two dozen scrapbooks opened a window into Jeanne’s life, passions, and travels. They revealed a young woman traveling the world: off to Jamaica in December 1937; earlier that year, a trip to England visiting Windsor Castle, Oxford, and Selworthy Somerset, a village of picturesque thatched cottages.

The books, their pages amber and frail with age, showcase a 1935 tour of beautiful landscapes in the U.S.: Jenny Lake in Grand Teton National Park, a sheep pasture in Michigan, mountain ranges in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and the Susquehanna Valley in Pennsylvania.

Looking at hundreds of photos, I couldn’t help but be amazed and intrigued by all of the past that had been recorded, preserved, and obviously treasured. On a 1937 postcard showing a beautiful English cottage, Jeanne wrote of the joy of seeing Canterbury “in the evening and early morning light,” just as one would expect of the daughter of a world-famous photographer.

A playbill promotes a performance of Jeanne Kimball, soprano, at the prestigious Jordan Hall in Boston. The playbill mentions that Kimball, who graduated with honors in music from Radcliffe in 1936, studied under some of the most prominent musicians in the country at the time, including Walter Piston and Edward Burlingame Hill. A 1948 newspaper announcing a performance by Mrs. Kimball mentions that she studied voice in England for a year with Gregory Haft, a pupil of Brahms, yes, the classical musician.

Loving wife and mother, a lifelong passion for music

The Internet gives me glimpses into the rest of her life. Though she was born and raised in West Newton, Massachusetts, Jeanne moved to Westport, Connecticut, in 1953 with her husband, Fred, who she met at a church camp when they were seventeen. “For sixty-plus years they were best friends,” her daughter, Joy, recalls in an online tribute. Jeanne devoted herself to her husband and family—raising three daughters—and her lifelong passion of music. In the 1950s, she founded the Westport Madrigal Singers and the Unitarian Church choir, directing both groups for more than 30 years. In 1998, Westport honored her with the Arts Heritage Award for her contribution to the community’s cultural life. She was an avid gardener, flower arranger, cook, seamstress, and enjoyed sailing with her husband on Long Island Sound.

Friends remember her as “one of the most gracious, loving, wholesome, and giving persons I have ever known” and “as delightful as she was talented.” She never lost her love of singing and teaching. Even in her 90s she did daily vocal warm-ups at the piano. “Mom always had ideas on how to make the most of the music her students or choral groups were singing. Right to the end,” Joy wrote. Shortly before she passed away, when her grandsons were singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” she weakly waved her hand. “Not ‘happy new YEAR,’ ” she whispered. “It’s ‘happy NEW year.’ Emphasize what’s most important.”

So on this trip to Nashville, where I was busy creating memories with my own family, I was honored and privileged to learn about this woman who meant so much to so many people and left behind such an unforgettable legacy. It occurs to me that it is no small irony that she departed from this life in Music City, in a city of kindred spirits.

Long-ago Letter Sheds Light on Great-Grandfather's Life

Fifty-nine years ago, a man named Ray sat down in the heart of small-town America and penned a beautiful tribute upon the passing of his dear friend and sent it to the local newspaper. Little did he know of the precious gift he was giving me, the only real insights I have of the man who was my great-grandfather, Charles Albert Burnette.

Ray’s tribute is part of a family history scrapbook my sister researched and compiled for our family that we got for Christmas this year. Although I am the life story writer in the family, she is the genealogist, loving nothing better than to dive in and put the pieces of the ancestry puzzle together.

I never met my great-grandfather. He died in 1955 at the age of 82 before I was born. Interestingly, I named my son Charles not even realizing the family connection. When I was younger, I didn’t have a lot of interest in “my people,” but that has changed.

When I was about seven or eight years old, I remember taking a trip with my grandparents to visit my great-grandparents' abandoned farmhouse in Tilden, Illinois, which is about 40 miles southeast of St. Louis. Back then, Tilden had the look of struggling farm town, old and dusty, with a population of about 1,000.

What Tilden lacked in vitality and beauty was more than made up for by the warmth and hospitality of the family friends and neighbors we visited at nearby farms. The women would prepare huge meals and express delight upon seeing my grandmother again. On that visit, we visited my great-grandparents' house, where my grandmother grew up. I remember it as a small rustic house that much to my growing-up-in-the-suburbs amazement had an outhouse in the back yard . . . an empty house that had left no clues to the lives of its owners. But thanks to Ray—whose identity is a mystery because I don’t even have his last name—I have this beautiful portrait of my great-grandfather’s life. Here’s what he wrote in May 1955:

At the End of the Race: “Dad” Burnette

On the outskirts of Tilden, Ill., facing the east toward Plum Creek, stands a small yellow frame house. Until just recently two elderly people in their waning years lived there and enjoyed its comfort provided by the shade from the full width porch and the foliage of the immense trees that they had set out in their young and happy years.

Mrs. Albert Burnette, the Mrs. of this gracious old pair, fell and was hospitalized with a broken hip, and seemingly through grief Charles Albert Burnette was soon admitted to a nursing home. Despite the constant and fatherly care administered to him Mr. Burnette apparently could not overcome it and succumbed May 26.

In his passing he takes to the grave many things that this world needs to live on. He was kind, he was honest, and the words that he spoke seemed to be weighed and exact with precision.

Dad, as he was best known to the hunters, would sit on the long porch of evenings and watch for the red fox as they would traffic back and forth up and down Plum Creek. He knew the exact place for the cast and loved foxhunting just as well as anyone who ever lived, and was always careful to maintain a pack of hounds up until a few years before death claimed him.

His funeral clearly depicted what the fruits of good living are when they held his services in the largest church in Tilden, only to see people standing to pay their last respects.

We’ll miss Dad and be honest with ourselves to not expect another to come our way as was Charles Albert Burnette. After 82 years, four months and three days, his vigil on Plum Creek is over. Thank you Ray, your spirit of compassion and goodness has far surpassed your earthly years. And for the reminder that the best gifts aren’t ones you can buy but come from our hearts.

—by Linda Abbott

What Writing a Novel Taught Me About Life

A book signing for my novel at a Sanibel Island bookshop.

Brick walls are there for a reason: they let us prove how badly we want things.
—Randy Pausch, the Last Lecture.

A terrific quote that pretty much sums up writing my debut novel, which I started many years ago on a trip to Sanibel Island. More or less on a dare to myself. You see I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not write fiction, I wasn’t smart enough or talented enough and I lacked the creativity to describe the sunset in sixteen different ways using colors that nobody has ever heard of.

I love Sanibel, so it wasn’t until Day Four when I finally willed myself away from the irresistible pull of the ocean to go inside and open the equivalent of a ‘writing fiction for dummies’ book. Though I’d been a writer for years—first in journalism and then in PR—I was convinced this was an exercise in futility. Too many unlimited possibilities, too many pages to fill. My talent, my spécialité, was the one- or two-page news release, for which I was the Queen of the Realm.

Yet the challenge taunted me. So on that day, sitting at the dining room table of a rented condo, much to my amazement, a mere three hours later, I had completed an exercise from the “how to” book and had, in fact, written several pages of fiction. I had characters, dialogue and a beautiful setting. Little did I know that afternoon I had written the opening chapter of my novel. Little did I know that I would spend hundreds if not thousands of hours over the next decade seeing it to completion.

Some reflections on the lessons from this journey:

Life happens in the small moments, pay attention.

I never even thought about writing a novel until well after my fortieth birthday. I grew up wanting to be Lois Lane (for those of you who remember Superman), not an author. But about fifteen years ago, someone asked me a fairly innocuous question that literally changed the direction of my life. “Have you read any good books lately?” At the time, all I read were news magazines. But the question haunted me; after all I’d spent my childhood devouring Nancy Drew. So I went to the library, started reading fiction again and haven’t stopped since.

Follow the dream in your heart even when you don’t know where it’s taking you.

If I had invested the time I put into writing and publishing this book, I probably could have 1. Started a small business; 2. Finished a doctorate; 3. Raised another child. But for some unknown reason, once I started this project I just kept going … as if some unseen hand were moving me forward.

Unlike many authors, I never thought I had this amazing story to share with the world; I just wanted to finish what I’d started. There were periods of time when I didn’t work on it for months, but then I got back to it, again and again and again.

Challenges and brick walls keep us vibrant and alive.

I learned about writing, editing and how a cover can make or break a book. I took classes on Adobe InDesign and Photoshop, and devoured everything I could find on indie publishing. I learned that when things in my life weren’t going well I could get lost in this project, plotting chapter after chapter, editing and revising, trying to get it right. I learned about the thrill of doing research and finding some little detail that enlivened a character or scene or gave my words greater authority and credibility. I learned that your first bad feedback can be brutal and when you find a champion for your book—someone who encourages you well beyond what you’d ever expect—you thank good Lord for sending them.

In December 2014, after years of tedious work, overcoming fears of rejection and months of delay because my “day job” always got in the way, I clicked through the sales channels that would create the Amazon page, and voila, three days later there it was. The idea that I could tap into a powerful global platform as an indie author was exhilarating. At that moment, it didn’t matter whether my novel sold or not, or what people were going to say about it. What mattered was that I wrote and published a book. I felt so proud of myself for an accomplishment that was well beyond my comfort zone and certainly beyond anything I had ever imagined doing.

Thank goodness I didn’t let fear kill this life-changing opportunity for personal growth and, much to my surprise, success. Since I published, I’ve sold thousands of books on Amazon and six years later, am still getting orders from Sanibel Island bookshops. (I never, ever, expected to sell more than 50 to 100 books to friends and relatives!) Many readers have left great reviews, and others have personally reached out to tell me how much they loved my novel; oh my gosh, if there were more than one reader who did this I would have been happy : )

The key takeaway is this: when that little voice in your head tells you that you can’t do something, don’t listen. Each and every one of us is capable of so much more than we can imagine. Advice to would-be writers: Go for it, and enjoy the journey. There’s never been a better time to be an indie author!

—by Linda Abbott

The Best Gift You’ll Ever Get Mom

Another Mother’s Day is upon us. No matter how much we love our mothers or look forward to celebrating the day, a perennial worry sprouts like the first daffodils of spring: what to get Mom? And even though she says she doesn’t want anything and is happy with a visit or call, a slender thread of guilt prompts us to start The Search.

True, some people are born with a genetic disposition for buying the perfect gift but most of us aren’t so lucky. We’re doomed to repeat the trek to the mall, wandering around the pricey perfume counters like nomads in a retail jungle or we venture off to Barnes & Noble, where, with a latte in hand, we peruse countless books, rejecting one after another unsure of mom’s literary predilections . . . will she really like it? Few things pass the test, because the truth of the matter is that in addition to not really wanting anything, Mom doesn’t really need anything. Yet the pressure mounts as we click our way through page after page of online bouquets, credit card in hand.

But there’s a way out of this annual ritual, a way to give your mother a present she’ll treasure forever because it doesn’t come from a store, it comes from your heart. And you can do it with a minimum of expense right in the comfort of her own living room.

The gift I’m talking about is taking the time to capture and preserve the story of her life—her childhood, marriage and family, career, achievements, what she fought for and what she believes in—in sum what makes her the incredibly special person that she is.

Sharing her story celebrates and honors her life, and ensures that ten, twenty or even fifty years from now her life and legacy will not be forgotten. Another plus: she’ll very likely enjoy the journey. Research shows that reminiscing is a therapeutic activity especially in older adults that is joyful and gives life new meaning.

This project requires a big shift in gears from daily life. It’s so easy to get caught up in the here and now: texts, tweets, Facebook, email, cell phone apps that we tend to lose sight of the fact—and let’s face it, no one ever wants to think about this—our moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas won’t be around forever. Memories fade, things change. Know this, and move forward. Here’s a few tips to help you get started.

First talk to your mom and decide on format: a book, DVD or audio CD are some options. Books are my favorite because they’ve endured for centuries. Draft a list of interview questions and put some time into this, because the questions are important in shaping the story. An excellent resource for interview questions is Linda Spencer’s book, Legacy.

Schedule a time for the interviews. Two hours is a good length for one session, many life stories require four or more. Get your children involved by asking them about their favorite memories of Grandma. Keep in mind this is a project you can work on for as long as you need to. (It can be next year’s present too!) The goal isn’t the finish line, the goal is to start the process.

Transcribe your interviews and print out a backup copy. Gather photos. If you’re doing a book, edit and organize the material but keep the narration in your mom’s voice. Blurb is a great online platform for life story books, or you can order custom books from a local book bindery.

So there you have it. No more chasing around, wandering down store aisles or web surfing looking for the perfect gift. This Mother’s Day, grab a digital recorder, put on a pot of coffee, pull up a comfy chair and have a long chat with Mom. You’ll never regret it and neither will she.

—by Linda Abbott

Remembering Dad

by Linda Abbott

I got the call that no one ever wants to get nine years ago at 2:52 on a gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in early September. Juggling several writing projects, I didn’t appreciate the interruption, but I answered the phone anyway.

In the next few seconds my mother quietly told me that my father had just died of a massive heart attack. The idea that my 74-year-old father, a strong and vibrant man, had died was beyond shocking.

I called my husband and son and immediately started packing. I dashed off an email to clients to let them know I’d be out for a week. The importance of everything I was working on had evaporated in the flash of a moment, and despite looming deadlines there wasn’t a thing in the world that could have kept me here. It was a four hour drive to Kankakee, Illinois, so we had to get moving. Driving there, in the gathering darkness, I felt compelled to start composing what would become his eulogy.

Anyone who has lost a parent understands the seismic and unfathomable loss—nothing will ever be the same. But there were moments during that week, despite the pain and piercing grief, that sparkled like the brightest stars in the universe. I will never forget the kindness of people, the endless procession of friends bearing baked goods and expressions of heartfelt sympathy, and the odd appearance of hummingbirds at the window while my niece talked about her beloved Grandpa. Our family brought together, supporting each other, the deep bonds of love and affection rekindled. Together, like it or not, we were starting the next chapter, Life Without Dad.

In the midst of all this, my brother found an old newspaper clipping tucked in a cubby in my dad’s roll top desk. I hadn’t seen it for years. It was a newspaper column I’d written for Father’s Day 1989, with this headline: Thanks Dad for everything. I hardly remember giving it to him. But here it was after all those years, laminated (by him, unbeknownst to me) and precision cut on a bright blue background. Reading it, I was overcome with emotion. It seems fitting to revisit it in memory of his passing, a tribute to the wonderful man he was and will forever remain in our hearts.

Sorry Dad that this letter is long overdue. Somehow we never get around to saying the things that are really important, so here it is, in black and white.

We’ve had some rough times, you and I. Remember the agony of my adolescence, when I was a jerk and didn’t even know it? When you grounded me for two years and caved in after six weeks of my moping around the house? Or how about the time you caught me smoking, and my punishment was to smoke several Salem cigarettes in front of you while you glowered, “Still taste like a breath of springtime?”

Fifteen years ago I thought you were the most insufferable ogre in the world. At the dinner table, scene of some of our most heated family arguments, you would tell me, “I wish I were eighteen years old. Because when you’re eighteen, you know everything. It’s when you get a little older that you realize you’re not so smart.”

I used to hate it when you said that. Fifteen years later (and dumber, according to your prediction) I smile at the memory. Of course, you were right. You were right about a lot of things.

One of the things I regret most about our relationship over the years is that for many of them I didn’t realize what a terrific father I really had. You were always there, never ducking out on your responsibility to me or Mom, our family, your job or friends. You taught me things about character and responsibility, things I hope I will impart to my children.

In honor of Father’s Day, a trip down Memory Lane

I remember when you took me fishing, long before you had a son with whom to share such things. To this day I take most of my vacations in northern Wisconsin because of you, Dad, and all the good times we had on that lake. I’ll never forget how excited you got the day I caught a 12-inch northern pike on the Couderay River.

I remember when you used to take us for walks in the woods to look for Indian arrowheads and fossils. Or when we had to cover ourselves in mosquito netting to explore an old logging camp site. That was right after you bought the metal detector, talk about grown boys and their toys!

I remember when I starred in our school play, “The Wizard of Oz,” in fifth grade and came home to find a big wooden star with my name in glitter tacked to my door. Like everything you made, and you made a lot of stuff, it was perfect. I still have it.

I remember when I was in high school you used to put the ironing board under the covers in my bed if I forgot to put it away. One time I found the broom in there. My best friend Debbie thought you were pretty funny.

I remember the day your mother died, when you didn’t look so strong any more, and I was afraid. A few days later, you pulled me away from the dinner table to tell me that your father had been diagnosed with cancer. I’m sure it was the most wretched time in your life; yet in the midst of my great sadness I felt honored that you shared your grief with me.

So these are the reflections of a grown daughter on Father’s Day. Some are happy, others sad. Together they form the wonderful mosaic of our lives together. Happy Father’s Day. I love you.