Thirty-eight years ago this day, my father died. I'm not saying that's a good thing or a bad thing. It's just a historical fact. He died when I was seventeen, and now, as I approach my fifty-fifth birthday, I realize that I've lived over two-thirds of my life without him in it. He hasn't been physically present for the past thirty-eight years, but I can't think of a single day during that time-span when I could claim that he wasn't influencing me in one way or another.
I'm taking this opportunity to reflect upon my father's passing because I think it's important to remember that after we're dead and gone from the face of this earth, our actions during the time we spent here will for decades continue influencing those individuals we have left behind. Hopefully, our influences will be good ones, and our children and grand-children will look back with gratitude for the times we shared with them and the lessons we taught them.
We walk this earth for a finite number of days. Make them count!
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