2002 was a heck of a year for me, book-ended as it was by the deaths of my father (in January) and my grandmother (in December). It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years.
My initial reaction was shock: I’d just seen my Dad a couple of weeks before, and I’d talked to him on the phone even more recently. I was still in shock when I had to drive across the city to retrieve his personal effects from where the police were guarding his body. There were the phone calls to be made, the funeral to arrange, the house to secure …
The memories of that day are with me still, barely tempered by time. I still find myself getting teary when I think about Dad, often at the most ‘inopportune’ moments (when I’m driving, for instance, and a particular song comes on the radio). A friend asked me recently, at his mother’s funeral, how one deals with the loss. My response was that you don’t (fully): you remember your loved one, you get teary, you take a couple of deep breaths, and you continue with what you were doing. As the pain recedes, you move on. But you never forget. And you allow yourself the luxury of crying any time you want.
I miss you, Dad. And I love you.
pablospages 
This one got me right in the heart… and what a great photo of Dad and The Girl, when she was just a small one. The beard, the beret, the introspective smile: it’s so good, and one I hadn’t seen before.
You are absolutely right, you don’t ever forget. Good heavens, I still have moments when I wish desperately I could pick up the phone and call my parents, to tell them about something that’s going on in my life and just to hear their voices. They do turn up in my dreams now and then, never with messages of great moment, just with casual everyday scenes and comments. It’s rather comforting, actually.
Your father would be so proud of the man you have become. And your mother is proud that you’re a man who can allow himself to cry, and consider it a luxury rather than a weakness.