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After I die, I'll be forgotten.

One day, you have a father who's always around, and then the next day, he's gone. I was too young to comprehend that. I actually thought he was going to come back.

Without my dad, I wouldn't be here.

To be forgotten, is to die a little.

My father was gone when I was three years old.

The grief of losing my father has come in waves over the years, as it does with most people. His love and devotion as a father provided my closest, most intimate relationship. Dad, and our time together, is in my bones. While reflecting on him, the memories themselves seem to boil down into certain 'essences of Dad.'

Fathers, yours is an eternal calling from which you are never released.

Forgotten is forgiven.

There's a lot of days where you feel forgotten.