He passed away about half an hour ago, in his bed, in his home, with my mother at his side.
He was 91. He was an enigma, my dad... one of the most brilliant men I've ever known. He was an academic, an artist, a war hero. He achieved amazing goals, he committed terrible sins, he searched for redemption. My dad could charm, he could wound, he could destroy, he could create.
He nurtured in me a love of reading, a love of writing, a love of art. While his amazing gift of drawing completely skipped past me, it landed in my three boys, whose talents in putting beauty on canvass have been blowing my mind for the past 25 years.
I am who I am, because of my dad.
I am who I am, in spite of my dad.
I don't know how to feel right now. I'm thankful he was finally able to let go, to find his peace, to leave his earthly body that was so sick, so frail. I'm devastated that my daddy died.
Via con Dios, Daddy...