My dad once had wrote a note to me not long before his passing. It read, "No one could ever mean more to me than you." It was odd too because in the beginning my dad was not one, for instance, to like to talk on the telephone. Too, he never wrote or signed a card? But then, as we spent more and more time together, suddenly, we would talk for hours on the telephone, and whenever a thought came to him, he would jot it down and send it to me. He was awesome. My dad, Asa Senf Briggs, the brother of Charles H. Briggs, Sr. who is laid to rest near him, was a remarkable man that someday I will be able to write more about. But right now the words escape me; at least those most befitting the kind of human being he was.
My dad once had wrote a note to me not long before his passing. It read, "No one could ever mean more to me than you." It was odd too because in the beginning my dad was not one, for instance, to like to talk on the telephone. Too, he never wrote or signed a card? But then, as we spent more and more time together, suddenly, we would talk for hours on the telephone, and whenever a thought came to him, he would jot it down and send it to me. He was awesome. My dad, Asa Senf Briggs, the brother of Charles H. Briggs, Sr. who is laid to rest near him, was a remarkable man that someday I will be able to write more about. But right now the words escape me; at least those most befitting the kind of human being he was.
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