On April 1st, my father would have celebrated his 99th birthday.
When he was 87, he learned that he had inoperable lung cancer. When he told me, I was surprised how sad I felt. He had always been relatively healthy—despite having the usual cardiovascular problems of older age. I thought I was prepared for the inevitable. I wasn’t.
As an adult, I always felt distant from my father. We spoke different languages. He was a scientist, a technician, an engineer who lived in the world of facts, symbols, and numbers. I am a psychologist, who lives in the world of people.
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