Maybe, just maybe, these little incidents are total coincidences, and we cling to them to help ease the pain of loss, because they make us feel that much closer to my dad. Whatever the reason, on Father's Day, when I feel that dull pain in my chest that reminds me I no longer have a father, I find these moments extremely comforting.
When I was 19 years old, my father began to die. I received a phone call from Mom, who told me that doctors had found a "spot" on Dad's lung and were going to remove it. "It," I later learned, was Dad's left lung. What a kick in the chops to a man who had been happily sober less than two presidential terms and was enjoying another shot at life.