Sometimes we never know what we have until it's gone, and I have had
to experience that with one of the most important people in my life.
My dad is almost sixty years old, although you would hardly guess it,
and if you were to ask him, he'd pretend he was still twenty-nine.
Eternally twenty-nine. He liked to act that way too. He used to bike
all over Rhode Island on his weekends off and sometimes roller blade
near the beach, not bad for a man in his fifties.
That all changed when he was hit by an RV while roller blading around
a parking lot. He fell and hit his head, and suffered severe brain
trauma. That was the end of the father I used to know. The father
that made Estes rockets with me, and who would stay up late, and go
camping, and who acted like he never hit age thirty. I didn't get a
chance to say goodbye to the dad I knew, but I really wish I had.
That was five years ago, and so much has changed since