The man throwing the ashes from the bridge is my step brother, Rodney Wade.  The ashes are the remains of my father, Thomas Victor Fuller.  He died March 9, 2009.  The bridge spans a river in Lynchburg, VA where I spent my middle youth.  I hadn't seen this river for over twenty years, but I still remembered the details.  My father loved this area, and took us to the river many times as children.  I probably won't see this place again for a very long time, if ever.

I spent my entire teen years longing to return to Lynchburg, and yet, when I had the opportunity to leave Atlanta, I did not do so.  Why?  Why did I go to Alaska?

Pain.  Memories.  Ghosts.  Sadness. Resentments.

I was with my father when he died.  I treasure that experience, but oh, how I wished I had grown older around him.  I may never fully outgrow the heartbreak of losing him both before and after his death, but I can outgrow the habits that kept me cowered in fear, anger and disillusionment with my life.  I can move one, and one day I will see my father once again.  Somehow I know this.  His blood runs within my veins.

He died a happy man, and I want to carry that on in my life.

Amen.  Love you, dad.