Was it June, or was it July of 2001?
It doesn’t matter, much, now.
It was evening and I was sitting on the bed cross-legged, relaxing after a day spent writing code for someone else’s business.
There appeared in my mind’s eye a picture. A perfect portrait, head and shoulders only, of a man about 25 years old. My Dad, as he must have looked a half a century ago now.
I was startled but not unduly worried. A strange vision, nothing more. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Dad for -oh, maybe a year and a half, closer to two.
It was only a couple of days later that I was rambling through the newspaper and a name caught my eye – my father’s name in the Deaths column.
Happy Birthday, Dad – you would have been 75 years old today.