Tomorrow marks one year since the day that my dad passed into his next life and not a single day has gone by in which I haven't thought about him.  I will often see or hear something that reminds me of him.  Other times I will see an act of generosity and think of him.  When someone I know has lost a loved one, I also think of him then, too.  And even in my dreams, my dad is still there.
Some days I get heavy-hearted because I feel like he had so much more life in him and because I selfishly wanted my kids to know firsthand what a wonderful grandpa they had - to have had even more memories of him - and to have him at celebrations, birthdays, graduations, and sporting events for so many more years.  Today, our son Jake played a great baseball game and I just wished my dad were there.  My niece Caitlin graduates this week and I know how much he wanted to be able to see it and celebrate it.
Other days I remember to be grateful for all of the time that I was able to have with him.  Not everyone gets to be blessed with a dad like I was.  In many ways, I also think back to my Grandpa and Grandma Widner - when they took in my dad, they gave him a second chance that he wasn't given in birth.  This act of generosity and love changed everything for him, and in turn, for me, too.  My dad took advantage of that chance and lived life to the fullest - not in the way of seeking thrills or adventure - but in the simplest ways - lending an ear to anyone that needed to be heard, going on a walk or fishing, tending to a garden, or going to church.  Mostly, though, he lived life to the fullest by loving.  He loved my mom above all else in this world and he loved his children (more than we sometimes deserved) and he never put himself first.  When I was much younger, I remember talking to my dad about financial wealth and he told me we were "rich in love and that's all that matters."  I was young at the time and so did not fully comprehend the simple beauty in the statement.  
I was honored, but not surprised, by the number of people that showed for his services last year.  I heard so many stories that reaffirmed what I feel about my dad, Daniel Robert Widner.  He treated everyone well.  He had no ill words for anyone.  He was proud of his children.  His was a life well-lived.
At the service, I mentioned how I learned what it felt like to "have a hole in your heart."  The hole is healing, but it's still there.  In a strange way, I never want it to be fully healed because the pain of this loss reminds me that I have a lot to live up to and it reminds me that I have so much to be grateful for.  So today I choose to be thankful and I choose to honor my dad in the best way that I can - to live a life of courage, of generosity, and mostly, of love.