Woodie

Allow me for a moment to tell you a story about a man named Morris Wood, known as Woodie. He was my father and also my Dad. This picture is of us, on my first day out of the hospital and in the world. Do you notice that I'm wearing a corsage?
He bought me flowers at least once a year, every year of my life until he had a stroke. When I was a freshman in college and it was my birthday, I got a bouquet; I thought it was from my boyfriend. It was from my dad.
I loved him best of all men I ever knew until I met Jim.
I got to the hospice on Saturday night and he was still awake. I held his hand and he grabbed on tight, gave me the OK symbol and went to sleep. He never woke up. He passed away this morning with my brother by his side. I am relieved more than sad; my dad is finally free of this struggle. Our mortal bodies are shitty, hollow vessels for who we really are. I know that now more than ever.
Here is his obituary. He was a handsome fella in his day.