As I passed by my living room, I would see the candle light and I would try to remember a life that was too short in living. It somehow seems wrong that he has been dead longer than he had been alive.

But mourning is for the living. At some point one has to honor a person not with tears but with memories.

The most difficult thing is that my memories are from the vantage point of a very little girl. No one really spoke of my father during the ensuing years except for small bits.

So, for a final time, having watched a flame for a little over 24 hours I am going to record once more.

For me and for my dad. I probably called him Daddy.

He was fluent in 4 languages.

Told by one of their best friends, long after both my parents had passed. My parents were serious people. Both had come from rough beginnings so they were intent on realizing the American dream.

My dad had recommended the friend buy a piece of property. In the following years, it paid off big time.

The man told me that he and his wife came over to celebrate the new year and my parents had plans to bring it in with his parents. So all 4 of them went over to my grandparents' home.

Being Russian, vodka was part of the celebration.

By the time my parents arrived, grandpa and his friend, Mr. Frank - a holocaust survivor - were already in a silly stage. The friend told that my dad was a bit embarrassed to find my grandfather is his best suit and Mr. Frank was wearing my grandmother's wedding dress. In fun, they held a mock wedding.

I think it is hysterical but really, if it were my father, yes a bit embarrassing! It was fun though according to the friend.

He was crazy about my mother. Her first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. The doctor made a house call and was consoling her with his hand on her knee. My dad was jealous. My mom told that story with a laugh.

I was the youngest of 5 children. My uncle had four children. We went out to an Italian restaurant. His father and mother were also there. Of course, my dad was seated at the head of the table. 6 adults and 9 children. The oldest, my brother was probably 10 yo. What a scene.

My aunt said all of us kids were well behaved.

All it took was a look from my dad. On a primal level, I know that look. It must have been great to be able to command obedience with nothing more.

I have a family portrait. One of my brothers was (ahem) very creative. He once went to the neighbors garage, dumped a whole box of laundry soap in the washing machine, then turned it on. In the portrait, my dad's arm is reaching around my sister's body to put a hand on my brother, probably trying to contain the squirming body.

Fifty years have come and gone. From the little that was shared with me, he sounds like he was a really wonderful man. I will always wonder how I would have been different if he had been there in my life.

But that was then and this is now. I have celebrated his life but never enough. I may think of more later but this is it for my NT entries.

I do wish I had gotten to know you, to have laughed to have had arguments, to have had you walk me down the aisle. To be with my mom.