608

They tell me 608 is gone.
Razed.
The threshold through which my father took his final steps and the building that housed his dreams are no longer.
Place and memory.
Long before that fateful August morning when my father set out on his final jog, he dreamed of breakfast meetings complete with omelets. He designed his office with a kitchenette for cooking and a bathroom for showering.
608 East Broadway was not just a building.
It was a family business.
The news of its demolition caused me to pause.
Halted, like the once thriving enterprise that had inhabited its house-like structure, I momentarily mourned its end.
I grew up with 608 and had long ago let it go - its death to me pre-deceased its ultimate demise.
And yet like a monument to a past as faded as the yellow pages of my youth,
it stood  in the ghost town that was once my home.
Anaheim.
This spot will now be paved for parking.
No one will mark it as having had any historic significance.
One building-
One threshold-
One father-
For me,
608 East Broadway will always be sacred ground.