The following is a story of time I spent with my dad. A few years after these events, he killed himself. He was a depressed, recovering alcoholic who took his own life for reasons I sometimes feel I fathom, but can’t agree with.

As time has passed and I’ve reflected on his life, I wish I had gotten more time to know him. Family and friends have told me more, and I’m grateful for it, but it would have been cool to have my own observations. From what I do know, he was not perfect, but was smart, caring, and good. I wish he could see my life now, that I could talk to him about the difficulties of being a husband, a writer, a climber. I’ll never have that chance, but I’m glad he isn’t suffering anymore. As I write this, listening to “Wish You Were Here,” I think about his life and how much someone can mean to you, even after they’ve been gone for so many years, even when they left you forever.

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