1969 was not just the Summer of Love.
In the Summer of 1969 my father was a new husband, a new father, and 18 years old.
This particular factoid holds no importance other than this October my father would have been 69 years old. Of course, there are the puerile jokes I could make about this number and it's inherent innuendo, but seeing as this is a note about my Dad, it seems mildly inappropriate.
I often detail my journeys with some pictures and many words, but the roles will be reversed for this, my trip to Iceland. My trip for my Dad's 69th birthday.
Christopher Nielsen Heard was truly the love of my life. Not in a creepy oedipal way, but in a way where a person truly sees you and you, to the best of your ability, see them. I was so lucky to have been seen for the first 32 years of my life and, even in the wake of his untimely death, I didn't for one minute take that for granted.
My Dad would, on occasion, discuss how someday, someone would come along and replace him as the most important man in my life. Though he was, and is, truly irreplaceable, I knew what he was saying - and the way in which he said it, totally devoid of judgement or jealously, always filled me with pangs of warmth, even as I vehemently protested it.
This fall, in celebration of my father's life I went to Iceland, my 47th country, to marvel at the vistas, fawn over the fosses and enjoy the quite beauty that is this Northern European sanctuary. And with me, I took a man - one who has not replaced my father, but who matters an awful lot...
Please take this travel tale as a story told in pictures, below:
