My Dad’s 69th birthday was back in February. I wanted nothing more than to dedicate the Oscar to him. Thankfully and beautifully, I was able to do that. But like so many sons and daughters who’ve lost a parent, my Dad left before I was ready to say goodbye properly. While he was holding onto life after his heart attack, I asked him to blink twice if he could hear me. He did. And I took this as a sign of hope rather than an opportunity. Sadly, that hope dissolved into despair as he turned for the worse that night. The next morning, feeling I missed my moment, I had to scramble to say what was on my heart. Though I can’t be certain he heard me, I was able to thank him for all the wonderful values he instilled in me, I was able to apologize to him for all the things that weighed heavily on me, and I was able to ask him to forgive me—as I forgave him and let him free of whatever he may have held as guilt or regret. In times of trauma, and in times of success, I lean on these three phrases: Thank you. I‘m sorry. Forgive me. Even now, as we had the ultimate opportunity to thank people from a public stage, I still want to say to my Dad again and again: thank you, I’m sorry, forgive me...in new ways. In death, there is a clarity of vision that allows one to see what a life meant. Its final. A period. And though its a tragedy and a contradictory mess, it is clarifying. So now, though my ability to thank him from a stage has come to an end, I am eternally grateful for this year of solace I was gifted. Thank you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.