Because my Facebook posts are not public, I want share here my first thoughts upon hearing of my father's passing. This was written about six hours after I had become aware that my father was gone.
So, how do I write that my father died today?
The words are easy to spell, the thought coherent and clear, but the tears seem to cloud things and make it all a little murky.
My last conversation with him was of normal things, nothing that would stand out from every other conversation that we had ever had. We talked about the Utah Jazz and if this would finally be their year; we talked about technology and how hard it is to believe what amazing tools are so readily available to us in this day and age; in other words, we just talked.
And that’s why the tears make things murky – we won’t be having any more of those talks. I will still talk, but his voice will no longer be there to echo and/or debate my sentiments.
My dad was from a different time; one where mothers stayed home and raised their children and fathers worked and provided protection and support. He was very protective of his own. Some of my most clear memories are of his protective side coming out in full force when he thought I had been wronged or was in real trouble. He was honest to a fault and had a hard time with the haughtiness of elitism and egoism and their falseness. With him, you got what you got, and he was solid. Mincing words was never his way, and in many ways I think that I reflect some of that.
He is learning more today about love and compassion than he was ever privy to here on Earth. He was three years old when his mother died giving birth to his younger brother. He was raised by his grandmother after his father couldn’t quite mentally traverse the gulf of woe that is losing a young wife and being left to raise two young sons alone. And so his life was not one of doting parents full of love and support, cheering at ball games etc. It was one of getting a job at a very young age delivering newspapers so that he could help support his grandmother. I would guess that it made for a very un-childlike childhood, and yet, he made mine amazing and full of wonder and growth.
I will miss you dad, but someday we will talk again about if this is the year that the Jazz will finally make it…