15 years ago today I received a call from my mom telling me that my dad had died. She didn't know the exact day, but it was within a couple days prior. He was 66, and had a heart attack, his second that I know of. He was far from perfect, as I am sure my son will say of me. But he was my dad. Born in 1927, he lived through the depression, served in the final years of World War II and was father to four of us, two girls and two boys. Even after so many years, I still feel sad on this anniversary, and I guess I always will. This drawing was made while at a meeting this morning. The details of the meeting drawn and written around his head, then blacked out, because in the end, at that moment in time, as I thought of him, none of it was very important and all of it overshadowed by my state of mind. It's funny, his is the only face I can really draw from memory and still have it look like him.
1 comment:
Hey Bill:
I haven't been by your blog for a little while, and your generous comment today brought me back. This drawing of your father and the accompanying narrative is really moving and wonderful. Thank you for posting it.
Best
DB
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