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I had a very vivid, almost hallucinatory moment in which I was engaged in a dialogue with my father.

I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.

I still relate to my father very much. I mean, I talk to him in a certain way, as we do talk to the dead.

My Father had a profound influence on me. He was a lunatic.

I felt that the best I could do for my father, and the best I could do for myself, and my mother and my family was to stay open to the experience, and learn whatever I could at every step of the way as it was going on.

I felt like I had two fathers. I had my real father and the father in my head.

I speak with my father about everything in my life.

My father leaving the family shaped who I was and how I looked at the world. By the same token, my father telling me fairy tales that he had made up shaped me profoundly, too.

It seemed like most of the memories faded before they had time to form. And after a while, my life with my father seemed like a familiar story or a distant dream.

When it comes to Father's Day, I will remember my dad for both being there to nurture me and also for the times he gave me on my own to cultivate my own interests and to nurture my own spirit.