8 years ago today, my father sat down in his armchair after eating a Shabbat meal with my mother and had a massive heart attack. By the time my mother noticed his difficulty breathing he had lost consciousness and he was dead by the time the ambulance arrived - he didn't suffer any pain. He had been in Israel to visit me and for a family Simcha the previous week; we had said goodbye at Ben Gurion never dreaming that it was for the last time.
As the years go by, I am certain that Dad, my friend, is with me every step of the way - watching over me and (hopefully) beaming with pride over the way in which my Brother and I conduct ourselves as human beings.
We all miss you very much.....