Monday, December 19, 2016

A Toast from a Prisoner and a Hostage

Had WPK, Sr. lived to see today, then he would be here to mark the occurrence of his 93rd birthday. He did not.  Therefore, he is not.  

He died at age fifty-seven.  He died thirty-five and one-half years ago.  I was fourteen when he died. His death taught me volumes about the finality of death.  It taught me that those things that are unresolved and unsaid - at some point in time - become irrevocably so. 

In February, I shall be fifty.  In May, presuming everything that has gone well to date continues to do so, I shall become a grandfather.  

And through it all, I shall be then what I am now, which I have always been, which is my father's son.

Not for better nor for worse.

For life.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

WPK, Sr.
12/19/23 - 05/31/81


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