Monday marks the one-year anniversary of my father’s death. I am at the point where I can write and talk about it with minimal tears. I’ve made the passage through all the “firsts” like first Christmas without him, first birthday of his without him, etc. But I still think of him daily. In fact, several times a day. In my laundry hang a pair of his pants that I had washed for him. I just never got around to taking them back to him before he passed away. I have left them in the same spot for more than a year now. There is a sense of peace in seeing that familiar pair of pants that he wore often because they were comfortable. Now they bring comfort to me. When I visit mom, I usually find a few minutes just to sit in dad’s chair. I swear I can sometimes I smell him. There’s a real sense of security when I just sit there. My mom has only parted with a handful of my father’s things. I’m glad because it means there are physical memories for me. My daughters now have one of his favorite pair of suspenders. And, I have the pants. But we all have more than that. We were given a lasting legacy of a man who never made the headlines but has filled our lives with warm memories and even more love.