Mecca was mud in my backyard

[mental picture of my father, sent via psychic e-mail] You spoke, and I awoke in serenity. You took me to the holy city- without traveling. My feet never knew of being covered in dust- they were used to mud from our backyard. Said that a curse was a creditcard- the big mistake was a wedding cake. You admitted to both; called yourself a boy that looks like a man- while others said you were a saint. You explained things when the situation called, otherwise- catch phrase and a witty punchline. Organic- but you were more than flesh. When dying- you spoke, despite having lost the ability, and conveyed to me the tranquility of your pending repose. (even then you kept your calm demeanor) You gave me the best advice once, with a smile- it sounded like a joke then, but wasn't. "Be Happy" Answering my mothers only advice: "Have no regrets"