Dear friends,

This is my 250th blog post, in just about 6 weeks since the Ides of March. It's been an eventful period in the country, among my colleagues, and in the life of my family.

My father, who is 86 and has been suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for some time, appears to be in rapid decline and very near death. I think he, and we, have come to accept that reality, and are coming to be at peace with it.

I'll be going to New Mexico for what will probably be my "goodbye visit" with him. We anticipate that he will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in recognition of his heroic service in WWII. He served as a combat infantry sergeant in the Battle of the Bulge and the sweep into Germany through the end of the European war, winning a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, and other commendations, as well as several battlefield promotions. After being initially rejected for service on medical grounds, he secretly sought medical attention and camouflaged his medical condition in order to serve. I'm not sure his mother, my grandmother Sadie, ever forgave him for that, but he was determined to take part in the fight against the Nazis.

Quite a difference from my generation (and myself) during the Vietnam War, or my children's generation during Iraq.

Dad would have loved to be a physician, or perhaps a teacher. His financial circumstances, and the needs of his family, did not allow for an extended period of expensive schooling. He got a degree in accounting at NYU after the war, then moved with my mother to Florida (where I and my two younger siblings were born), becoming a CPA and a partner in a local accounting firm in Miami. That firm eventually merged into a national firm. I don't think he liked the work very much, or found any great satisfaction in it, but it provided a living for his family, and allowed him to feel he was meeting his responsibilities. He had resources of strength, caring, and gentleness that he could not express very fully as an accountant. He was a highly responsible and dutiful man, probably to a fault. I've had to cope with that complicated inheritance in my own life, as have my siblings (and my children).

He has been a devoted husband (to my mother Ruth) and father to my brother Marshall (who has borne the primary burden of Dad's care in recent years), sister Cheryl, and myself (and wonderful, loving father-in-law to Phyllis). He enjoyed life, sports (particularly golf) and being with people. It is very sad that his final years, compromised by illness, have been so isolated, limited and lacking in interest to him.

We had some good times and some bad times over the years. He was the eldest son in his family (as am I), and had a difficult, and not very rewarding, relationship with his own father. He wanted a better relationship with his children. That was sometimes difficult to achieve in practice, probably particularly with me. He had a considerable temper and could be stubborn (as can I), and that did not always bring out the best in me. Visits could be tempestuous, particularly as leave-taking neared, and that made visits less frequent than might otherwise have been, even before our respective health problems made travel difficult. I don't think he understood my academic or intellectual aspirations all that well, or the depth of my Jewish religious commitments, or my perfectionism. He had a hard time reading my academic writing, or appreciating the issues that excited and stimulated me, and that could be hard for me at times. He was forged by depression and war, and his focus was on more basic needs and responsibilities.

He has been a good and generous and loving father, and we have come to some peace in our relationship. I have found comfort in helping to care for him on those occasions that we have been together in recent years.

During my college years and for a while after, the family lived in a house with a small dock overlooking Indian Creek in Miami Beach, a few blocks from the ocean. It was a peaceful and beautiful spot, coincidentally within eyeshot of the hospital where I was born. Dad and I would go out on the dock during the evening and talk, sometimes for hours, enjoying the gentle breeze and soothing sounds of the water lapping against the dock. Those were our happiest times together, and I'll try to hold that image as I confront his shriveled, dying body, and contemplate a future without him.

I love him and will miss him terribly.

The blog will be down during my impending travels.