What can one say about my Dad? That he was bright and had a great (sometimes black) sense of humor? That he was a brilliant doctor? That he loved me, his only daughter, like no other? Well, all that belongs in the category of "common knowledge". It's what many people don't know, that made him himself.

He was a guy who was led by his heart, even though his brain was a lot healthier (literally). He was a dreamer and an idealist, who wanted the world to be different than it was. He was generous, funny and thoughtful, and he was often "flying in the sky".

I remember the times when he would read to me or tell me stories, creating them as he went along. I remember him and myself walking our dog around the neighborhood, immersed in deep talking, or just immersed in the silence surrounding us. I loved talking to him, and I loved being silent with him. I remember scratching his back until it bled, and him urging me to continue. I remember telling him: "caminama, Taticu, caminama!" which means: "'cratch me, daddy, 'cratch me!" and he'd scratch my back until I had red scars all over.

He had plans, big plans, which were not to happen. He wanted to travel and see the world, and he was working on some new poetry.

My Dad was a very sentimental and emotional guy. He was a person who needed someone to lead him, someone, to show him the way. He found this person in my mother. After her death (1991) he fell into a deep depression, from which he never really recovered. He had lost that security, that my mom was there to lead him. Once he came close to his old self, after spending some months in a clinic near Munich. But after the death of my grandmother (1998) he fell again. This time, he never recovered. At the time of his death, Sunday, February 20th, 2000, 3:05pm, his girlfriend was by his side. He fell into her arms, after suffering a major anxiety attack, followed by a massive heart attack. I had lost the man I am so proud to call my father.

I will never forget that fateful phone call I recieved that Sunday morning ......