In a couple of days it will be three years since my dad died.
I am somewhat loathe to admit it, but since then I have noticed just how much I have come to resemble him. I'm probably the only one who really picks up on it and, although my wife was around then, she never got the chance to meet him, so the likeness would certainly pass her by.
I shouldn't be too surprised - he was my father after all - but I suppose I am a little taken by it. It's no secret that I was never particularly close to him, and that towards the end of his life we had minimal contact, but - as cliche as it sounds - I'm glad that he lives on in me; both the good and the not so.
It's just that sometimes, you don't see the train until it pulls up at the station.