I especially remember my two fathers - the one who gave me life and the one who raised me.
My stepfather died earlier this year after several years of poor health. I must be honest - we did not always get on and I was not always the easiest step-daughter. In fact I spent many years hating him!
Only when I moved away, grew up and matured and had my own children, did my feelings towards him mellow. In the end I grew to love him and appreciate that he was the father who raised me to be the woman I am today.
I am glad for the many years we have shared - the good times and the not so good ones.
My biological father died in a sudden car accident when I was 3 years old. I have no memory of him and that pains me.
I have stories, which my mother told, and I have photographs. I look at those and study his features carefully. I see a resemblance with my brother and even myself - but the face I look at is really a stranger.
I wish dearly that I had a real memory of him, anything at all! The best memory I have of my father is me. The genes he passed to me. I hope that he will live in me and my children and children's children.
So I remember both fathers with love and gratitude.