Most of you know that my father died.

My parents' love for each other is a model for living with a partner. Even in the last hours of life the love between them was visible to all who had the honor to witness it. I will not go into any details of their life or his death. I will, with my mother's permission, include one of her poems.

The Old Lovers
Asleep, their bodies rest as spoon to spoon
or else are pressed together spine to spine.
One of them dreams a night of summer moon
when firm young bodies meet and intertwine.

One dreams they climb a trail in blazing noon,
leap boulders, savor scent of fir or pine,
gaze down on unknown lands they’ll travel soon,
their years before them in an endless line.

They dream apart, but each dreams they’re together.
They drowse then turn and waken face to face,
illusion’s threads unravelling seam by seam.
They touch the dear soft flesh of one another
then almost desperately the two embrace
fearing that one might soon hold only dream.

Phyllis Smith

The world has lost a man who spent his life making the world a better place than he found it. I have lost a man who loved me unconditionally, and proved the love when I did not deserve it. I cry for my loss. I mourn everyone's loss; those who knew him, those who knew of him, and those who never had the honor of knowing what he did for them.

With love to all who read this regardless of if we have ever met
Papa of Honey and Papa