Six years ago I celebrated the last true Father’s Day with my Dad. The following year I spent the entire day by his side in Room 924 of the North Kansas City Hospital while he was under heavy sedation. I kept waiting for him to make a miraculous recovery so that I could give him something he had been on a quest to find for ages — the TV show “Have Gun, Will Travel” on DVD. I still have that box set but cannot bring myself to watch it. It was his…and I was going to watch it with him.

Later today I will embark upon my new Father’s Day tradition. After spending time with my own children I’ll take a 45-minute drive up to Excelsior Springs to visit his gravesite. I’ll get out of my car, stroll over to his grave, take a deep breath and then fall to one knee. There, quietly, I will speak softly to him and sum up everything that has happened in the past year since my last Father’s Day visit. I’ll let him know how I’ve been doing, tell him about the latest and greatest with Melissa, share with him what’s been going on in my career, regale him with silly tales of the kids’ adventures and end it by tearfully letting him know just how much I miss him.

After this “conversation,” I’ll return to my car and sit in silence until I’ve regained my composure. Forty-five minutes later I’ll be back at my home and fully feeling the deep void that his passing has left in my life.

He’ll never meet Melissa. He’ll never see Alex or Gwen graduate college. He’ll never attend their weddings. He’ll not be present when my own grandchildren are born.

…but the immense and profound impact he had on each of our lives will survive.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t celebrate my own father’s life and all that he had taught me. Reminders of the man are around me everywhere. He was truly a father of the ages.

Happy Father’s Day, Pop. You have no idea how much I miss you.