My father passed away nine years ago today. He would have been 72.

If you knew my dad, you'd know the last thing he'd want us to do would be to sit around mourning him all day. Instead, he'd want us to celebrate his life. Of course, for those of us left behind, it's hard to do when all we can think about is that he's no longer with us. But we can still remember him in our own way.

Every year, my sister takes the day off work, goes to the park and just remembers him. I will work today, but my dad will be with me as the day goes on, in the back corners of my mind. This isn't really different from most days, though. He's always there, and I can see him as clearly as I did that last day. I know they say that our memories of the ones we've lost lessen over time, but that just hasn't happened. Whether it's because he was taken from us so young or so unexpectedly, or because he was just such a strong presence, I don't know, but he's still so ... vivid.

What I remember most are the funny things he did, his goofy laugh, even the fact that he wore his shirt unbuttoned all the way down to his waist, with his gold anchor chain hanging over his hairy chest. Yep, that's my dad.

I wish I had pictures of him to post. This was before digital cameras -- or, at least, before I had one -- but for those of us that knew him, there's no forgetting what he looked like or who he was. Yes, he had his personal demons. Who among us doesn't? But ultimately, what we remember about him was his love of life, his sense of humor, how he was the first one people called when they needed help (and how he was the first one to offer it), and how much he loved us. Those qualities are what made my dad who he was, and the reasons we miss him so.

So Dad, today, in your honor, I will go home after work, sit back, drink a beer, smoke a cigarette, and yell out "Muros!" at completely random moments. (Don't ask. It's a Perez thing.) Love you, Dad.