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I have lots of memories of my father. He was an incredible father. We all loved him to death.

My memories from my childhood are centered on my father's medical conditions alongside my constant desire to understand the principles of the nature around me.

The loss of my father was the most traumatic event in my life - I can't forget the pain.

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.'

Since my brother died in 1982, my parents and I had formed a shaky tripod of a family; now that I'd lost my father too, it was too easy for me to glimpse a future point where I alone was the keeper of not just my own childhood memories, but of my family lore.

In 1989, my father died after a prolonged struggle with Alzheimer's disease. All four of his siblings followed him into the shadow lands of that fascinating, maddening affliction.

I don't know whether there is anyone else at all who remembers my noble father with such sadness.

I was a very sickly boy when I was young; nearly died when I was 7. I had a life-threatening attack of meningitis, and that put me in a coma for a few months. It took me four years to get my memory back.

My grandfather went through a lot in his life.

My father loved people, children and pets.