My Dad died many years ago; I still miss him, particularly when I'm in his garden and I need some advice. He had a great laugh this a.m. when I suited up (long pants, long sleeves, thick gloves) to harvest the nettle patch (for fertilizer and tea) behind the old maple and forgot to put on socks. Ouch.
My children's dad is apparently related, metaphorically, to Rev John's. At present, neither of them are speaking to him. Or he's not speaking to them. Or some damned thing. I try to stay out of it.
Sent my elderly godfather, who lives several hours away, a 'thanks' message in the midst of one of our on-going facebook scrabble games, and promised to visit him at his little cabin in the woods later in the summer.