I’m rerunning my six-word Dad memoir from three years ago, that sadly will always be true because, even 29 years after he died, the tears can still creep up on me when I am reminded that he never got to be a grandfather to my children, or that I can’t chat with him about what it’s like when your oldest leaves the house. Here it is:

“Died too young. Found in pictures.”

The photo is from when we lived in New Jersey. I’m about six months old. He died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack when I was 21.