Year Eight.

Id like to write my first blog post about my dad. as it is his yahrzeit (the annual anniversary of a death in Judaism, observed on the Hebrew calendar date of a loved one's passing).

He passed away in 2018 from Alzheimer's disease. For majority of my life he suffered from it. He was diagnosed when I was a young boy. Interesting fact is the length of time he has been gone was the equivalent of the around the amount of time I knew him in a healthy state.

In year eight I Look back at who he was, I keep trying to place him in a good light. As the darker parts out way the beautiful parts. By trust me there were the most beautiful parts. Even if there were few and far between.

In my early years however most of the times i spent with my dad, as i would say abba (father in Hebrew), were the richest experiences, i think any human to have walked this earth could experience. My dad knew what was good... and wouldn't be afraid to share it with whom ever was around him.

Being the youngest of seven and a son of my father of his old age, I got to see the world on the shoulders of a giant. literally! He was known to many by different names, from Radish Man to Buss Hershel and father Christmas but i knew him as one thing... Abba. my father.

His face radiated light and his smile warmth. He was the true definition of a man. He had his flaws but those are just tales spoken by others. When i looked at my abba, he was awesomely perfect. He surrounded himself with music and dawned his walls with art. He spoke of depth and thought in a way that was so unique that you would question everything you ever thought... in the best way. He would sing songs of adventure and love like no one before. He was a true mensch. and I am happy to call him my abba.