It is 37 years ago today that my beloved father died of a fatal heart attack after shoveling wet, February snow. He had scarcely been sick a day of his life so to say the event was shocking is numbing in its inadequacy.
He was the bedrock of my life. He was always there, literally and figuratively - one of those rare present fathers of the 50's and 60's. Owning his own roofing business in a nearby town even brought him home for the noonday meal. He was there for fun, laughter, tears, disagreements, noise, games, decisions, vacations, church, swimming, boating, family gatherings, guidance.
He was there.
And when he died, I realized that for all of my life my mother always thought he was the greatest.
There is no greater heritage.
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