I flip a page on my executive planner and come across a note on the top of October 24 indicating that it will be my son Nelson's birthday. Tomorrow would be his 42nd birthday. He passed away at 28, but I continue marking my planners with his birthday. Not so much to remember, because people will remember only what they want to, but as a form of admission to myself that, as long as I live, that special date will always be marked on my calendars--and how hopelessly we desire to cling on to memories that have special meaning only to ourselves.

Nelson lived a normal life as a successful dentist. He left behind his girlfriend, who was a successful dentist also. He dabbled in writing and in painting not so much to please me but because he enjoyed indulging in these. I have at least four of his works.

Someday, when I am gone, Nelson's birthday will no longer be recorded in my executive planners, and neither will mine.

I believe that immortality is not in building monuments or in conquering worlds but in keeping that spark of love alive inside your heart, and knowing that it is one of the greatest treasures that no one else but you can ever have.