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It’s 11 years that my dad has been gone

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It’s hard to believe. My dad died on this day 11 years ago. I don’t know if it ever really gets any less painful, but there’s a day when his absence went from being a source of anguish to just another fact of life.

My dad's grave in Corona del Mar on Sunday, when we visited.

My dad’s grave in Corona del Mar on Sunday, when we visited.

My mom, my brother Elliot, and I visited the cemetery on Sunday. It’s an annual ritual for us, a physical place to connect the many memories and emotions for a short time. It was Elliot’s idea to leave the Dodger can insulator.

I’ve written at some length of my dad, and of his death. Last year at this time, I wrote a few words and added a few that my cousin Jim Ostroff had sent me remembering my dad. I’ve also posted some of his pictures, including a photo album he kept during the war and just after.

It’s been more than 4,000 days, and the one hasn’t come yet where there isn’t something I wanted to tell him—a joke, an anecdote, a development in one of the esoteric fields he always seemed to know a lot about.

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  • Jim Ostroff May 31, 2013, 2:31 pm

    When special people such as your dad grace our lives, their time with us–the stories, experiences, fun times and travails–becomes a part of us forever. Eleven years later, as always, your dad’s name remains as a blessing to those who knew him; to those many whose lives he touched. This is his legacy.