One week ago today, I lost my father.

It was sudden, completely unexpected, and awful to witness. There are images that will haunt me for the rest of my life; sights and sounds and smells that will always bring back what was the worst week of my life.

But there was also comfort, by friends and family, priests and even strangers. And what comforts me most of all, other than my faith that my father and friend, a good man in a world that is sorely in need of them, is in a wonderful place right now. He left this world with no loose ends. His was a good life, a happy life. He passed away knowing his family was strong, there were no quarrels, and successful and content. If ever a person could leave this world with a sense of closure, it was him.

There are little things that upset me, small closures that will never happen that seem trivial but trouble me when I think about them. Before he died, he talked to me glowingly about Dennis Lehane’s new novel and how incredible the last half was. When I picked up the book, I noticed the bookmark was placed 6 pages before the end. We had also talked about his finally watching the season finale of Bates Motel, a show he and I both got into this spring. He never got the chance to see how it ended. I wanted to take him with me to a horror convention in the fall so he could see with his own eyes all of the things he instilled in me come to fruition as a writer. We played bocce and looked forward to many, many games together, sharing a drink and a laugh as we played with or against one another. Out of all the things we’ve done over our adult years, those games mean the most to me. It’s where he became as much my friend as my father.

What I want to do is thank him for all the things he did over the course of my life. He’d just turned 70 in April and I’m not usually a mushy card writer, but this time around, I did list some of the things I was most grateful for so he knew the impact he’d had on my life.

So dad, I know you’re still reading this blog. Here’s the entire list I should have written. Dad, thank you for:

• Giving me life and a loving home, first in our apartment in the Bronx, across the street from the cemetery, then our house where you and mom have stayed for over 35 years.
• Horsey-back rides. Those are some of my earliest memories as a kid in that apartment.
• Bringing home issues of Mad and Famous Monsters of Filmland magazines, especially when I was sick. They cemented my sense of humor and love of horror.
• Putting together monster model kits in the kitchen while listening to college radio replay the old radio serials.
• Annual summer vacations, where you showed me the beauty of Maine, a place my family now calls our home away from home.
• More drive-in movies than I can count, watching flicks that made me the envy of all my friends.
• So many other movies, most especially the twin bill of Dawn of the Dead and The Kentucky Fried Movie when I was 10. That stands out as the single greatest day at the movies in my life.
• An appreciation for a cold beer, a breeze to shoot and the ability to relax and not run myself ragged trying to keep up with everyone around me.
• Being a dad to Amy, accepting her into the family and always making her feel loved.
• My absolute love of reading, which then became a compulsion to write.
• Being there for me when Amy was so sick, and giving me a chance to collect myself without going bankrupt.
• Teaching me to be a man, to be responsible, caring and loving to my family.
• Being a great grandpa, playing wiffle ball with the kids, putting together put-put boats and slippng them $5 every time they were at the house.

I could write this list for days and never come to the end. The thing is, with each line, my heart grows heavier.

I miss you. We all miss  you.

And most of all, we love you. No past tense. That will never change.

Rest in peace. You earned it.