That’s now how many years have gone by since my Dad passed away. Time has worked on the wounds from that day, and now the memories I hold are softened, less painful, blurred by the hour glass. Like looking through a lens with a gel filter, maybe. I still remember the last time I saw him. It was in the driveway of our home in northern New Brunswick, and it was one of the very few times he’d ever given me a hug. I’m still not sure why he did that. He and I had grown apart, I’d been living in Halifax, and we had rarely seen one another. It is so interesting how a singular moment, an embrace that lasted all of 5 seconds, had evolved into a memory that now spans almost a decade. That is one moment that has not become blurred, and I do hope that it never will. He is my moral compass, and while I am fairly agnostic about the whole concept of religion and spirituality, I do often ask myself what he would think about things I’ve done or was about to do.
The photo for this also ties into my recent travels to the Middle East. This row of candles was burning in Saint Virgin Mary’s Coptic Church in Cairo, otherwise known as the Hanging Church. It is the oldest church in Egypt, dating back to 3rd century AD. The candle at the far end of the row was one that I had lit for my Dad when I was there about a week and a half ago.

