Today is the 13th anniversary of my Dad’s death, an emotionally complicated day for me, one that does not seem to grow less complicated with the passing of time. The complexities just shift color and intensity. There are the memories of the man and the inevitable internal comparisons of who I was then and now.

This year, perhaps more than ever, external factors make me wish for a talk with him, to sit on the curb in front of the laundry drinking Cokes in icy green bottles and just talk while watching the traffic go up and down Main Street. My father was a much smarter, wiser soul than his daughter.

I miss that wisdom, coupled with his good humor and the steadfastness of his affection. I often think of him now as he is up there in the header of the blog. He’s the tall fellow on the right with the crooked grin.

A few nights ago the local news ran a story about a retired Air Force colonel and former POW who was reunited with the dog tags and wedding ring he left behind in Vietnam more than 30 years ago. As he walked into the hangar for the ceremony, the band struck up the Air Force song. The lyrics were a little different in my Dad’s day because he served in the World War II Army Air Corps, but the tune made me cry all the same:

Off we go into the wild blue yonder,
Climbing high into the sun;
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At ‘em boys, give ‘er the gun (give ‘er the gun now!)
Down we dive spouting our flame from under
Off with one helluva roar!
We live in fame or go down in flame, hey!
Nothing’ll stop the Army Air Corps!

He loved to soar into those blue skies and was, until the day he died, a pilot. I like to think he’s flying now, as far and as fast as his heart desires. I have no answers to any of the metaphysical questions of our existence, but all I ask of an afterlife is to once again ride shotgun for the flyboy who has always had, and always will have, my heart.