“Death ends
a life, not a
relationship.”
Mitch Albom

Yesterday, July 31st, was the feast day of Saint Ignatius of Loyola. It was also the eighteenth anniversary of my Dad’s unexpected death. Again this year, I spent a good part of the day walking in The City. I began my walk at the Glen Park Bart Station — Diamond & Bosworth Streets. 

After a delicious oatmeal raisin cookie and cup of hot chocolate at the Bello Coffee Shop on Diamond, I began my trek up Diamond Street to the top of Diamond Heights. From there, I stayed on Diamond until I got to 29th Street. This is where I stopped to take the photo above. As challenging as it was walking up the steep Diamond Street hill from Glen Park to Diamond Heights, the walk down 29th Street was much more taxing on my knees. I was relieved to get to the bottom of the hill at Sanchez Street.

Dad grew up on Sanchez Street at 25th. He attended Saint Paul Elementary School at 29th & Church before beginning his high school years at Saint Ignatius High School on Stanyan Street in September 1939. 

After a brief walk through the Noe Valley neighborhood, I stopped for a light lunch at Martha & Brothers Coffee Shop at the corner of Duncan & Church Streets. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the yogurt parfait, which was served with granola and fresh fruit. It was the perfect lunch for a comfortably warm and sunny summer day in San Francisco.

I ended my day back out in the Sunset District, where I had parked my car outside Java Beach Café at 45th & Sloat earlier in the morning. Of course, I had to walk up 38th Avenue from Vicente to Wawona Streets to see our old family home. Serendipitously, just as I got to the house, the current resident of 2650 – 38th Avenue arrived home. I introduced myself to him and asked if I could go into the garage for a moment. I explained to him about Dad’s death eighteen years ago and how he had fallen down the back stairs, sustaining a traumatic head injury. He invited me in.

Mom moved out of this home fourteen years ago today. Still, there is a plethora of evidence to prove that we once lived there, including “Kevin was here 6/4/64” written in chalk on the garage wall. I stood for just a moment at the bottom of the staircase where Dad fell. I’m not sure why I felt the need to do this, but I did… and I’m glad I did. I walked out the garage door and up 38th Avenue with a tremendous sense of inner peace.

I’m grateful that the weather for today’s outing was so agreeable. It was sunny, comfortably warm, and a bit breezy, but quite pleasant throughout the day.

Let the month of August begin!  —  A M D G