When you lose a parent early in life, and that parent is too young, it remains on your mind every day of your life. This is a photo of my dad. He was 54 years old (and 21 days) when he died in 1989. Yesterday I turned 54 years and 22 days old. I've had this date mentally marked on my calendar for nearly 30 years wondering if I'd ever see it. I know it's ridiculous because I'm not even remotely sick or unhealthy, but when I woke up yesterday morning, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I've now officially oulived my father. I plan on appreciating every moment of my bonus time.
