My father was an incredible musician. His guitar playing was bluesy and soulful; his voice tender yet rich in tone. If I listen long enough, I can almost hear his melodic riffs in my mind reminiscent of days long gone. It pains me to know I won't ever hear the actual sounds of his guitar and voice again; only ghostly fragments in my mind. He instilled in me a love of music, I carry it with me always and it gives me some comfort in knowing that there is a part of him in me. I'm going to pick up my guitar, the last gift he ever gave me, and learn how to play, in the hopes that somehow I may channel his spirit. I may never be a great guitarist like my father but it will bring me closer to him in some way. And so, the journey begins...