Growing old gracefully is easier said than done. The old adage of using it or losing it is indeed true. Therefore, I must find a way to gainfully employ the use of my brain to keep my synapes fired up. Hence, my blog.
My Father was 20 years older than my Mother. He was 47 when I was born, the age some people become grandparents. Unfortunately, the toll of cigarette smoking, made him appear even older than his years. His emphysema became so bad, he could not walk far. But as a little girl, I always looked up to him and fondly remember the nicknames he'd call me like "my little nick nook" and "my little monkey". On this Father's Day, I feel content in knowing that my Dad is forever near and watches over me. He never met his grandchildren, but I know they would make him proud. Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I still miss you after 38 years.