Remembering My Dad

    Everyone has those days that get etched in the mind from some circumstance, good or bad. You can't remember what you ate for breakfast yesterday, yet the tiniest things from those particular minutes or hours stay with you.

   Those days. For me, June 2, 2021 will forever be a time to pause, reflect, and remember. 

   One year ago marks the final time I saw my dad in person. It was early on a Wednesday morning, the last day of several that my dad had been spending with us after traveling north from his home in Florida. 

   It was like old times as we chatted for close to two hours about life. We talked about sports, something near and dear to both our hearts. We discussed what was going on in the world, what was going on with my family. In hindsight, it's of course become one of those things you wish would have lasted longer, if just for a minute more.

   But life gets in the way. I had to get some sleep, and my dad needed to get ready to head a bit further down the road to visit my sister and her family. 

   I'll never forget the last hug we had. Then I turned around and walked out the door.

   

   We would talk again and exchange text messages on the phone, but about two months later, God called my dad home. It was a major shock to my system. The cliche is that you're never ready for it, but man, I sure was not. It can happen to anyone at any age, though even at 74 years old, I thought my dad still had a lot of life to live. 

   Again, in hindsight, there's so much I wish we would have talked about over the years. I feel like I've learned more about him in the short months since than before last June. 

   My dad fought for this country in the U.S. Army. Of course, I knew that, but I knew none of his service record or awards until I read old paperwork on it. 

   Before retirement, my dad worked all over the country and made numerous contacts and friends across a long career while also doing much of the same with church work. Of course, I knew that too, but to have someone travel in from Oklahoma to my dad's memorial service at his home church in Florida, even for one person, means you made an impact somewhere, somehow.

   If you know me, I'm about as private of a person as can be when it comes to discussing emotions or thoughts. It's probably why writing came so natural to me. Covering a wrestling match or a softball game was always easy. Talking about myself, let alone trying to eulogize a parent - not so much.

   That part would have been easy for my dad. I even joked during my eulogy that he probably would have enjoyed writing and delivering his own version if he could have. I did not inherit the gift of public speaking from him. Looking at the crowd there that day, my dad was the person who could have known nobody there and fit right in. Me, I'd be in the corner taking in my own personal thoughts with maybe a few quick hellos.

   In some ways, it seems like it's been that long since those first few days of a 'new' reality. In other ways not. The word I use most with the last year is 'numb'. I know it's real, but I haven't felt like myself. It's been difficult not being able to pick up the phone and just say hello, or for him to text me about NCAA wrestling or how the Bedford County teams are doing, as he still would despite me not in full-time journalism anymore. (Yes, sports fans, I still follow along).

   In between planning services, trying to clean out a house and selling one from 1,000 miles away, and the associated decisions that need to be made while also working and maintaining your own family life hasn't been easy, or fun for that matter.

   It hasn't left a whole lot of time to grieve or reflect, and that has been the hardest part. You feel so distracted. You want the clock to stop even though you know it can't. You want moments back that you know aren't available until we meet again in Heaven. 

   I closed my eulogy that day by saying "My father wasn't a perfect man, but he was the perfect dad for me." 

   My dad wasn't perfect, I'm not either, but I believe he had a kind heart and truly cared for people. I try to do the same as much as possible so my son can someday say the same about me.

   Healing is taking it's time, but it's starting to come now that most of the extraneous, necessary things have been taken care of. Which is leaving more minutes for memories.

   And those are many, from throwing the ball in the yard, to a trip to the Little League World Series, to him holding his grandson for the first time and so much more in-between and around, my dad was that 'perfect' dad.

   My dad made an impact. That's what matters above all else.

   Thanks Dad.