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The robins have returned, Easter is a week away, and I’m thinking about my dad.

My clearest memories of the week that he died are still of all of the robins that filled the trees and strutted on the grass, even at the funeral home – especially at the funeral home – I watched them and knew that my father’s spirit was already with them.

With their skinny legs and proud red breasts, they herald the coming of spring, of renewal, and of rebirth. That thought comforted me in March 1999 and inspires me today.

Miss you, Dad.

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