My Dad died 17 years ago today (it too was a Sunday).

Crazy how God works. I lived several hundred miles from my Mom and Dad, and one of my greatest fears was getting that phone call that Dad had died. I can't tell how many times I prayed I would not get that call.

As it turned out, we drove up to Connecticut to see my Mom and Dad. Got there on Saturday, June 13. Had a great time. Went to bed, and our plan was to head to Boston on Sunday morning.

We were packed and ready to go around 9 a.m. For some strange reason, Mom and Dad had not gotten up. My brother, who lived next door stopped by to see us off. When I told him that Mom and Dad were not up, he knew something was wrong. Within a couple of minutes, he came out of the house and told us that Dad was dead.

Hard to imagine that God honored my prayer, My father died in his sleep at the age of 89. No health issues other than his age. The magnitude of the moment has never escaped me.

And the best part of all, I was at peace, having seen him one last time...and I ended up being the sibling that made the phone calls.

As a Veteran of WWII who flew the Hump, it seemed appropriate he would die on Flag Day.

God Bless you Dad....I love you and miss you.