Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of my dad's passing. I wasn't sure leading into the day how I would feel. I didn't handle the day well the previous four years, and I'm kind of a stickler for milestones.

Yet, coming into the day, I wasn't feeling the same kind of trepidation that I've felt in the past. Oh sure, I did dream of Dad briefly once, but last week I slept so badly across the board that I hardly remembered anything, as it was a pattern of 15 to 30 minutes drift-offs instead of one sustained sleeping pattern.

I thought maybe that was the reason, but truthfully, I think I've finally come to grips with some parts of what happened five years ago. I saw some things that last day no son should ever see, and that kind of thing haunted me for a very long time. Even now, I have to admit, there are times when I go to bed where I suddenly forget how to breathe, and it takes some time to finally relax and just let it happen.

Also, I'm finally to the point where I can use the "d" word, "died", though I may still pause from time to time before I use it. Freaky things like that; my wife thinks I'm nuts, and should have gone to counseling, but, well, you know.

Anyway, five years later, and the master sergeant is still a big part of my life. He's just not a part of my sadness anymore, and I'm happy about that, because my dad was all about life and happiness, and I'm sure that, in his own way, he'd be feeling much better about how I feel now than before.

I expect other parents who have left this world may feel the same about their children also.