This is one of my favorite pics of my dad, taken about 15 years ago when he was 60 years old. With his signature flat top haircut and cup of Maxwell House, he wears a shirt that still hangs in his clothes closet, kept company by hangers full of other flannels, corduroys and denims, some so thread bare that the light shines through. In contrast, his dresser holds plenty of brand new duds, still folded and packaged with the tags still on, gifts from Christmases and birthdays past. Here, he stands in his driveway, possibly eying Lady in the hay bottom of his three acres or the goings-on of the kinfolk up the road who, years ago, encroached, albeit legally by way of auction, upon my maternal grandparents’ 65-year-old farm.
Daddy was physically strong and active, self-reliant, hard-working, very well-mannered, responsible and extremely loyal. And he was my ally in our immediate family of four. Although we shared no DNA (he adopted me at age 3 after he and my mother married), we were, unlike my mother and much younger sibling, both introverted and quiet, most comfortable with those we knew well. Although on opposite ends of the political spectrum, we left well enough alone and didn’t hold our differences against each other. He was my familial sounding board and voice of reason. Did I mention he was an excellent dancer? Square dance and waltz.
But, like most of us, he had a bad habit and a deadly one at that. He smoked from the time he was a teenager and only gave it up for good 10 years ago when he was diagnosed with emphysema. If not for that, I believe he would’ve beat the pneumonia. So, seven weeks ago, when he first went into the hospital and asked if I could possibly come and help my mom who was left home alone, I never imagined that I would return to Virginia without my father safe, back at home. Only 15 hours prior to his death, when the nurse said, “I think we’re coming to the end,” did I then realize that he would not recover. I think daddy realized a day earlier when he started demanding the powerful anxiety pill that he knew would keep him sedated. Still, I can’t believe he didn’t make it.
The three songs on the playlist accompanied a video of photos of my dad throughout his life that played continuously during the visitation in the funeral home’s chapel. Visitors quietly chatted and mingled and hopefully conjured up memories of him in better times as they gazed upon his urn and Surveying the North Forty, which sat framed on an easel. As daddy requested, there was no preacher and no fuss. Anything that family members and a few close friends wanted to say about him was reserved for the cemetery the following day. I think he would have approved as all the to-do was much like him–quiet, unassuming, friendly and comfortable.
Grace
T
8noodles
justin
YogaforCynics
First I want to say how sorry I am for your loss. Your father sounds like a wonderful man and from your description reminds me of my own father who has been gone for many years. You have treasured memories to hold on to.
So glad that you are back. I’ve missed you and Lucy.
ann´s last blog post ..Just another manic Monday
I too am so very sorry for the passing on of your dad. Life is never quite the same again, it goes on, but the hole that is left – remains just that. I’ll certainly be in prayer for your mom and you as you now begin a new chapter in your lives. Praying for comfort and a peace in your heart. It’s been almost 15 years since my dad died and 9 years since my mom died. Sometimes it just hurts… and that’s okay.
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Quiet, unassuming, friendly, and comfortable…sounds a lot like this blog. Sounds like your dad was a wonderful man, and clearly his spirit lives on in you.
YogaforCynics´s last blog post ..Surfacing…with Court and Spark, Enlighten Up, and my new chair from IKEA..
Holly — this is a wonderful tribute to your dad. Sometimes the best way to bring someone back to life is to talk about them and tell stories — it doesn’t make up for their loss, but it does summon their spirit and it can help you feel a little better.
Jennifer´s last blog post ..Golden
Holly, its so nice to hear about your dad in your own words. Photos are great, but the beauty of a person’s life is in the relations and love they share with others. Clearly he has left you with many precious gifts. Here’s hoping your heart is recovering slowly but surely.
Svasti´s last blog post ..The passing of a great soul: Paramahamsa Satyananda Saraswati
Hi Ann and thanks so much. Yeah, the memories will have to do, I guess… Lucy and I are so glad to be home and we missed you, too!
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Thank you, Valerie. It feels so strange, not having someone who has been with me my entire life. I think it’s just going to take some time before I accept that he’s really gone.
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Thank you for the kind words, drjay. I failed to mention that my dad was also selfless, a trait that I’m afraid my mom, sister and I have yet to master. Something else for me to work on…
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Hi and thanks, Jennifer. You’re right, it does make me feel a little better to talk about him. I’m glad you stopped by to read.
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Hi Svasti and thanks so much. Glad you enjoyed hearing a little about him. He was a kind soul and would like the nice things said about him here, although he might have something to say about me posting him in the first place!
Twitter: junkdrawer
What a beautiful tribute, Holly. Your dad sounds like the dad everyone wishes they could have. I’m so sorry for your loss. “Unassuming, friendly and comfortable.” I agree with Yoga. Sounds just like you!
Junk Drawer Kathy´s last blog post ..Any Chicago Area Cat People in the House?
I am sorry to hear about your fathers death. it is always difficult when your parents die. Your writing was a great tribute to him and although he is now gone remember only the good times.
Be strong.
Gerry
Gerry @ candle fragrance oils´s last blog post ..The Advantages of Soy Candle Wax
Twitter: chrissymarie321
Hi Holly, As I said before I am very sorry for your loss….it leaves such a gap when a close loved one moves on. He sounds like a wonderful person, caring and considerate.
I don’t think we ever envisage losing someone close to us until we do………and as Valerie says, it hurts. I am not sure at what point the hurt gets to be ok, somewhere along the line I think you just get accustomed to living with the gap.
Your tribute is lovely and I am glad you have such wonderful memories, I know that I cannot say anything that will help but you are in my thoughts and if you were nearer I would give you a hug ~ ChrissyX
Holly-I wish gents today could be more like your dad. Simple, humble, reliable, responsible, hardworking. My dad was like that, too. I know you’ll miss him. Somehow memories just aren’t enough.
Twitter: earthtoholly
Thanks so much, Kathy. And “awww shux” to you and drjay…I wish I were as unassuming, friendly and comfortable as my dad, but thank you anyway. It’s not too late to learn from him.
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Thank you, Gerry, for your kind words, and thank you for stopping by. He was about so much more than I could ever write.
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Hi there, Chrissy, and thanks so much. You’re right, it does leave an awful gap and during moments of realization that he’s really gone, I reject that awful feeling. I know you went through this recently with a close friend, so I truly appreciate your kind words. They really do help… xo
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Hi nothingprofound. Yes, my dad was very old school and would probably cringe at me showing him in his tattered work clothes. He never left the house without his shoes shined and his shirt tucked in. And you’re right, memories don’t seem to be enough…
Please accept my sincere condolence. It sounds like you had a great relationship with your father that many don’t. My father-in-law was also a very private person who asked to have just a simple funeral service. Like your father, he also died of emphysema with a complication with pneumonia. My his memory consoles your grieving heart and hope that in time the pain of losing him gets better.
Have yourself a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
tashabud´s last blog post ..CHAPTER SEVEN
A loving, lovely tribute
Grace´s last blog post ..Dreams deferred and then outgrown OR Can you like only jelly donuts?
Twitter: earthtoholly
Thank you, tashabud, for those kind words. I remember reading years ago that pneumonia meant almost certain death for those suffering from emphysema, but my dad had always been so strong and healthy otherwise, I just assumed that he could get through this. At least I know that he’s now at peace…not having to stop every few moments to rest and get his breath. Thank you for stopping by.
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Thank you, Grace, and thanks for all your support–of me and the blog–through all of this. Your continued visits were so welcome. :o)
Twitter: jodapoet
I’m so sorry for your loss Holly. I think it’s wonderful that you are expressing your feelings and memories here and I thank you for sharing this wonderful man with us.
Joanne Olivieri´s last blog post ..Music in Nature – Contest Winners
Holly – sweet photographs – and wonderful words for your dad. Flannel is my favorite color.
Twitter: earthtoholly
Thanks so much, Joanne, for your kind words. I’m not sure if he’d approve of all I’ve revealed…but how could he not appreciate all of your kind comments?
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Thank you, koe. Fleece is my favorite color, with flannel running a close second. :o)
Twitter: craftybird
This is such a beautiful portrait of your dad, Holly.
Twitter: earthtoholly
Thanks so much, Bird. I think so, too. It is so “him.” My guess is that it was in the middle of summer, probably 75 degrees, at least, and there he is in that flannel shirt. He was always too cool as opposed to too warm.
Twitter: craftybird
You know what though Holly? Your words get him across just as well. Together the picture and words are an amazing tribute.
Hey Bird…don’t know if you’ll see this as I just found your comment here. I really have to keep up better with commenting. :o(
Actually, though, thank you. I haven’t been back to this post in awhile and I just now did another read…got very teary. As much as I don’t want to feel sad, I do, if that makes any sense. I don’t want to forget him or anything about him. Anyways, thank you for your kind words.
And I am venturing back further to see what else I have missed…
[...] these guys would be in the front yard early in the morning…on many mornings. Belonging to the kinfolk up the road, they would mosey on down, stopping at my dad’s yard to graze and leave hoof ruts, among [...]