It was Sunday, September 23, 2001, which would be the most earth shaking day of my life. My Mother died.

I had spent most of the day with her, as she had not been feeling well. Around 5 o'clock or so, I asked her if she was feeling any better, and she said a little. I remember leaning over and kissing and hugging my mother and telling her to call me if she needed anything. Never could I have imagined that less than four hours later, my mother would call me in the midst of a major heart attack and that by the time I got to the hospital, my Mother would be gone from me.

You have to understand, my mother was only 15 years older than me. I talked to her every day. I saw her every day as well. She was so much more than my mother--she was my best freind, my sister, my strength, the other half of myself, the only person in this world that loved me in spite of everything. My mother would move heaven and earth for me. I miss her so much some times that I do not know what to do.

Many problems in our society will be solved when young men are willing to become good fathers. Of course, they can do this only if they have an example to follow. As fathers, we need to be the strongest role models for children, especially for our sons.

I loved my father. He had a tremendous sense of humor, but he also was strict and set boundaries which I didn't always appreciate at the time. I always knew he loved me. Once when I was eight or nine, I angered him so much that he threatened to punish me. I looked up at him and, before I knew what I was doing, blurted out, "Papa, I'm really sorry. Do what you have to do—but I know you still love me." To my astonishment, he leaned down, put his arms around me and said with a tenderness that came from the bottom of his heart: "Christoph, I forgive you."

October 6, 1998 - January 9, 2009

Rico has been sick since December 26. After many vet visits and hospital stays to find out why he isn't eating, our vet called yesterday afternoon with devastating news: Rico has an inoperable tumor—cancer—and there is nothing he can do to save him.

I am so sad and overwhelmed with grief. But I am also trying to stay strong for My Little One.

A few week's ago, I had this magical dream about my father.

I was walking down a country road with one of my cousins, and when we got to the end of the road, in the long grass, were thousands of poems, photos, letters to loved ones, and I realized it was a memorial site.

Then, out of no where, my mother showed up and is standing next to my cousin, and she reaches into the long grass and pulls out a photograph of my father at Christmastime. He is young. It's a black and white photo. And he's wearing a Santa hat and a mischievous smile.

I turn away from the picture, and my father is there, sitting in front of me, in a chair in the long grass, and he looks so happy, and I run to him and put my arms around his neck and tell him how much I missed him and that I was so happy to see him again.

But, like all my other dreams, he can't stay. And I realize he's gone.

It's been almost 10 years since I lost my dad. My dreams about him feel so real to me. My dad comes to me in my dream. To comfort me. To let me know he's still here.

Do you have a dream you'd like to share? I don't know about you, but when I have dreams about my dad, they are memorable.