Death is nothing at all…I have only slipped away into the next room.” — Canon Henry Scott Holland We live in a very small house. The room where I write and spend many hours each day also serves as my son Evan’s bedroom when he chooses to stay over. I am surrounded by collections of Legos, a baseball bat and glove hung on the wall near the window, and some of my favourite books of hope and inspiration. Hanging from one shelf to my left is my father’s cane. He died a few years ago while I was away at a National Speakers Association Conference.

He had made promises to my mom that he would leave a certain amount of money to my brother and me. He kept that promise. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, but exactly what he said he would. My dad measured love that way. Not by acts of love but paid in instalments in dollars and cents. Which in his own way was loving. After his death we had to go through all of his belongings. Memories tucked away in boxes, hanging on hangers in the closet and valuables hidden where no thief would find them... his underwear drawer.

Most of everything is gone now, except for the photographs and memories no one can erase. And, oh yes, his cane. I found it in the trunk of his car when I was cleaning it out to sell. It wasn’t the one he used in the last year of his life. But it was the one he depended on for many years before. He stopped using it because he broke it while riding an exercise bike. — Beliefnet.com