There is a funny thing that happens when someone you love dies. You start searching for them. I noticed myself doing this more recently. I stare longer at the older man slowly crossing the street using his cane for support. For a brief moment, I swear it is my father and remember what it felt like to watch him walk across my path. While getting routine blood work today a man with very kind eyes sat across from me. Both of us sat with arms extended while the nurse searched for a vein to stick a needle in. He looked at me and smiled and I saw my father in his eyes. I immediately recalled my father and the fight he gave. In the end, his veins blew out from all of the blood work. I would sit next to him and advise the nurse to try his hand instead of his arms. I hear a song on the radio and I swear he played it for me. The lyrics become his voice and the song becomes his teaching. I search the children’s face, trying to catch a glimpse of him and smile when I see it. I ask myself a question and then answer it in the way I think he would. Photographs are priceless and when I look at them long enough I can quickly remember what it felt like to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, rub his shoulder or listen to him breathe. I get excited before I fall asleep hoping I will see him. I think dreams are the closest we have to understanding how our spirit leaves our body once we are gone. In our dreams we are talking, living, seeing but yet our body lays in a bed. My father’s spirit has been released and if I am lucky, our spirits meet up while I sleep. If that does not happen, then I will continue to search and hope I see a part of him in someone else and remember what it felt like to have him around.