Every new death reminds me of his. To this day, sixteen years later, I have not grasped that my dad is not simply "away." I cannot fathom that this man I have loved so completely could be gone from this earth. After he died, I heard someone say that "death is but a horizon, and a horizon is merely the margin of our sight." Ever since, I think of him out there, on some green hill beyond the horizon. With me still.