As many of you may know, this February my dear girlfriend Ann Marie's father died. Ann and her father were very close and the loss to her was devastating. A couple of weeks ago we went to the small and dusty town of Gallup, New Mexico to retrieve some of his belongings.

Those of you who know me know that I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, specters, or Jesus. That being said, all through that forgotten little town I experienced the ghost of Rocco Di Pomazio. There was no ghost in the traditional sense. No things going bump in the night. No translucent apparitions floating around making "wooooooo" noises. There were no pirate ghosts for this Scooby gang to unmask. What there was was an afterimage of a man who touched a great many people. A man who was liked by all who knew him. Everyone in Gallup knew Rocco.

I heard the ghost in the shaky voice of a local politician who ate breakfast with Rocco frequently. I saw the ghost as a waitress embraced Ann in tears. She had worked with Rocco for well over a decade. I felt the ghost in a prayer written by a coffee shop owner who so loved this man that she once opened her coffee shop on a day that it was closed just so that he could have his usual morning espresso. Everywhere that we went in this aged Route 66 outpost of 20,000 people I felt the presence of the ghost of Rocco Di Pomazio.

We never talked about it, but I know that Ann felt it as well. She felt it to a degree that I can not comprehend. At every turn in the city she had another story about a loving father and his daughter. She kept asking me, "Am I rambling? I must be tired." We were both tired, but I don't think that had anything to do with the flood of childhood stories. The ghost lives inside her. He warmly resides in her memories and will be with her for the rest of her life. Such is also the case of the local politician, the waitress, the coffee shop owner, and the innumerable other people who's lives were touched by Rocco Di Pomazio. As long as the memory lives, so does he.

I post this a week after our trip to New Mexico and a day before Father's Day. I've had a week to digest the trip and to distance myself from the powerful emotions of that week and I hope that I can also give some comfort to someone whom I greatly love on her first Father's Day without a father. I am fortunate. My father is as alive, lucid, and vital as he has ever been, and I think that on this Father's Day we should all take a moment to remember all of the great things that our fathers, living or dead did to make us the people that we are.

Thanks Dad.