The sounds of his voice filled my car and lifted my heart. Suddenly I could feel my father’s presence. It was consoling, reassuring, it filled me with laughter and with tears. I couldn’t believe my ears. I was stunned. I hadn’t heard that Russian voice in years. I turned it up a little louder just to be sure it was him.

To most people Ivan Rebroff is just a name, but to me his melodic crooning, heard so often in my childhood home, represents a spirit of living, a spirit of joy and laughter, a spirit of celebration of God’s gifts. He shared so many of my dad’s characteristics: a musician forever singing, surrounded by balalaikas, pianos, violins and of course accordions. Both men had a zest to live life with humility and gusto.

How is it that I had forgotten about him? I couldn’t recall when I last heard that voice. Now here it was again, suddenly, unexpectedly. As I listened to Rebroff, I could almost see my dad. I had impetuously asked God for a sign and now, arriving at Church, I felt wrapped in my dad’s warm embrace.

Every Father’s Day I delight in remembering my dad, our loving relationship and the ways he influenced the person I have become. When he died unexpectedly, I was overcome with grief. But I was determined to keep his spirit alive within me and that has provided much-needed comfort.

I will never forget the time I joined my brother and dad on a Florida holiday. Coming from an immigrant family, this really was a big deal. Like any teenager, I just wanted to have fun. But dad wanted the trip to be about more than fun. Throughout our trips to Disney World, Busch Gardens, countless beaches and restaurants, he never stopped delivering an important message.

“Dorothy, when you grow up, I want you to seriously consider self employment. It will give you unlimited opportunities. I came to this country, not knowing the nuances of this culture. I came here for you, your brothers and sister. Living in this country is a great blessing. I am insisting that you seize it. I have great hopes for you.”

Joseph Pilarski had many remarkable stories. During the Second World War, his entire family was being sent to a Russian work camp. As they travelled by train, an opportunity arose for him to escape. He often described it in vivid detail. He got his mother’s prayers, his mother’s blessing, then he jumped from the train to freedom. Eventually they were reunited. It was a family of great faith.

I sometimes marvel at how I’ve maintained a relationship with my father even though he has been dead for almost 30 years. His great faith in me is a lasting gift. So too is his love.

My father worked by the sweat of his brow in Canada, but he never once complained about his lot in life. He didn’t believe in credit cards, yet he was proud to own his own house and car. His life revolved around church and family. He often grabbed whatever instrument was at hand and looked into my eyes and sang: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”

My dad wore a suit every Sunday to Mass. He gave to the poor, he played chess, he prayed, he danced — and, like Ivan Rebroff, he sang.

(Pilarski, a professional speaker and consultant, can be reached at www.dorothypilarski.com.)