This time of year is particularly difficult for me, and as some of my exchanges with my children have proven that it is for them, too. My father passed away eleven years ago. During his wake, to add a little humor, my daughter hung a skeleton with a missing leg off a bowl of Halloween candy which we provided to those who came to pay their respects. Just weeks before he died, Dad has his leg amputated due to an infection that spread from his toe up his extremity. The move was to save his life, but my guess, he gave up hope––what little hope he had left in his soul. Not even the promise of his first great-grandchild could entice him hold on. My daughter had just found out that she was pregnant and shared the new with him as he lay in his hospital bed. As I look around at my life now, watching my children raise their own––four in total––he is missing out on a lot. And so are they.