Today (February 14, 2022), I pay homage to my father, who passed away at the age of 62 on this date in 1997. This is a photo of my dad and me in December 1974 at the house of my Great-Aunt Rose in East Orange, New Jersey. I was 13 years old.
It is difficult to comprehend that he has been gone for 25 years. I still sorely and immensely miss him. He died on his mother's birthday -- she passed away on May 22, 1977 -- and the day after the birthday of his sister, who turned 86 years old yesterday.
My dad was cremated. Half of his ashes were interred at Breslau Cemetery in Lindenhurst, Long Island, New York. (The original name of Lindenhurst was Breslau, named after the city in Germany.)
The other half of his ashes was scattered into the North Atlantic Ocean from a U.S. Navy ship. Dad served 22 years in the Navy and retired at the rank of Commander. He was a few months short of Captain. He served on a ship in the 1950s, transporting DPs (displaced persons or, as he called them, delayed pilgrims) after World War II from Bremerhaven, Germany, to New York City.
My father had a twin brother named Wilbur who died in 1935 at the age of 9 months due to spinal meningitis.
Also, today marks 35 years since the passing of my wife's grandfather.
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