This morning, I got up, ate breakfast, looked at the newspaper and, then, lay back down and took a nap. I am so glad that I did, because I dreamed about my Father, who died on February 28, 2001, just two months before his ninetieth birthday. In the dream, he and I were walking along a sidewalk. I had my hand around his waist to steady him, and he had his hand on my shoulder. I can't recall what we were talking about. What I do remember is that we were just talking, like friends. My Father was a beautiful human being: kind, gentle, intelligent, and sensitive to the feelings of others. I surely do miss him.