June 2009 -Chicago beckoned, a trip planned a lifetime ago, before my father's showdown with cancer.

Chicago’s a straightforward town. The Chicago River cuts the city in two like a ginsu and deposits you directly into Lake Michigan at the Navy Pier.

Need to get around? The rattling El ties together Chicago’s best. Want pizza? Try deep dish.

Want art? Look Van Gogh or ‘American Gothic’ in the eye at the Art Institute.

Look yourself in the eye at Millennium Park’s steely Bean; no use dodging those spitting fountain faces.

Got the blues? Chicago’s been there too - Chess Records is here, Muddy Waters’ label in his heyday, and over by the river, the House of Blues.

Best fish in town? Shedd Aquarium.

Best catch of the day? Field Museum's: “Inside Ancient Egypt” where Michael Jackson’s likeness lurks, carved in crumbling stone.

Best time travel? Inside a U-505 Submarine at The Museum of Science and Industry. Claustrophobia never felt so good.

Chicago’s known trouble. Fires, riots, it keeps getting back up. After the Great Fire destroyed most of the city in 1871, Chicago picked up the pieces and rebuilt. Like Steve Austin, it became better, stronger, faster than it ever was. (Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies Van Der Rohe et al). In 2008 Chicago saw hope lit in every face gathered in Grant Park at Obama’s victory rally. Gift shops brim with Barack Obama mugs and opportunities to pose atop the Sears Tower with his cutout.  

Flying home out of Midway I searched for signs of heaven out the tiny round window above the clouds.

Picked up the Times on my way to Dad’s house; headline: Michael Jackson had just died. Dad always saved the paper when major headlines occurred: JFK’s assassination, moon landing, Watergate, Presidential elections. I saved it for him; this was his last day.

For me, 2009 was the summer of life’s final page. That summer I often wondered, why am I here? How can I let him go? In my mind I carry two photographs - one my father, the other, Chicago - my little family reflected in the lens. Faintly, I hear a whisper, “all is not lost”. The city moves forward.  City of blues.