Dead ringers

I was running into town on an errand, and about a mile from Calhoun, there was my dad at the wheel of a pickup coming at me northbound.

Unsettling, considering he died four years ago.

Of course, this isn't the first time I've had that confusing ricochet of thought and emotion: Hey, there he is! No, there he isn't! My, that's an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Years ago, I was walking along Michigan Avenue a few days after John Fischetti died and spotted him across the street.

Gone but far from forgotten.