Dear Dad

Dear Dad,
Happy New Year. I thought about you a lot today. It will soon be a year since you left your mortal coil and joined the great main-frame in the sky.
Today was the first time since 1955 that the Rose Parade was held in driving rain. All I could think about was how year after year you would remark about the beautiful weather on January 1 and the "poor bastards" back east who were surely green with envy watching the telecast from Pasadena.
Well, your passing has brought with it change, amazing change. I'm stronger than ever, feel more capable and self-assured than ever. My career, my industry is changing, going through labor strife and technological upheaval. But thanks to the pad your inheritance provides, I can afford to be philosophical about it and keep my eye on the ball, which really just entails learning new technology, staying ahead of the curve by staying smarter than the twit who hires me.
This year I have grieved for you far beyond anything I imagined. I've traveled twice by car over many miles and listened on those trips to the sound of your voice on tape cassete. One morning, driving across the bleakest desert between Utah and Nevada I listened to you speaking as you sat on the beach sand of a Wisconsin lake. The affection in your voice as you described this boyhood haunt made it quite clear that this year I will take your ashes to Wisconsin and rejoin you with the place(s) that meant so much to you.
I miss you so much. I wish you could see Elliot. He's grown a good six inches since you left. He is a fine young man.
I miss you so much - it rained on the Rose Parade today.