I lost my dad outside a restaurant on a Saturday night in 1966. I was 13, he was 49. Heart attack.

He was a quiet man, smart, a great dresser but detached from life. Overwhelmed by a body ravaged by fever at an early age. So, he coped by keeping his distance. Said little. Knew he loved me, but never knew how much.

I've spent the last 50 odd years finding him. Looking at old photographs. Talking to people who knew him. Finding him and his parents on Ancestry.Com and putting the pieces together.

Do I know him now? More than I did. So much I wanted to ask him, still do. Just never had the chance. I'll never be completely whole, but I'm okay with that now. I miss him. But mostly I miss what could have been.

Nice poem, Thom. A lot of feeling there.