My father loved spring—with its yellow, red, and white tulips, fresh green leaves, and bright yellow forsythia. He lived in New York City with its long, cold winters. Spring brought new life and the promise of the long, lazy days of summer.
My Dad passed away nine years ago, at the age of 88, after a long winter. He did get to see his final spring, although he was much diminished by the ravages of cancer. I was fortunate. I was able to lend him my support in this last period of his life.
But this season, as it blossoms, I reflect on my 56-year long relationship with my father... Read More