Letter to Home
Posted: June 18th, 2017, 1:34 pm
Dear Dad,
Twenty-nine years since you died! Hardly seems possible that I've lived well over a third of my life since that awful weekend. I still dream about you on occasion, though you've gotten a bit indistinct around the edges. And I always think of you whenever I hear Dixieland, or pass an antique auto on the road. I always smile and say to myself, "I bet Dad could name every member of the band!", or "I bet Dad could tell me the make, model, year, and how many were made!"
Mom's still hanging in there, but ever since selling the cottage in Nova Scotia, she's showed signs of entering her own landing approach. She isn't so active any more. Her health and memory are starting to fail and she gets confused and disoriented easily. Karen, Brian, and I have covered for her, but her doctor recommended assisted living. Boy, did she ever fight us over that. It took a lot of cajoling (and a little bullying) to get her to agree that the time had come, but she didn’t go gladly. And bulldozing out her apartment was a nightmare – we had no idea how bad her hoarding had gotten. But she's fallen in love with her new digs (still kvetches about missing her precious “stuff”), and she’s upbeat and doesn't seem particularly frightened or bothered by what inevitably must follow.
Well, as of this summer I’ll have officially outlived you by 5 years - 90 days past my 67th birthday. Sixty-seven! How did that ever happen? Last I remember I was 35.
But what I really wanted to tell you was: Thank You. Thank you for making me what I am. Thank you for everything you showed me, everything you taught me. I don't know if I would have made it otherwise. I wouldn't be Me.
You taught me fiscal discipline - remember that "Things of Science" club you let me join? You said sure, provided I assume responsibility for the monthly payments. Not many 14 year olds have their own checking accounts. It taught me frugality, it taught me to pay as you go. And that helped me survive my divorce. I managed to pay off my mortgage 7 years ahead of schedule, and amass a healthy retirement portfolio even while meeting my support obligations. And I have no significant credit-card debt. So - thank you.
You shared with me your love of nature. Remember the snakes & turtles you'd bring home to show me? I do. I remember the wood turtles lumbering across our screened porch, the milk snakes curling around my wrist, the enormous toads that always seemed to pee in my hand. These things, and the woods and fields they live in have become my church. Thank you.
Thank you for turning me on to Bob & Ray, to Garrison Keillor, to jazz.
Thank you for teaching me to read. Thank you for teaching me algebra. Thank you for teaching me German (however rudimentary!) And thank you for the meta-lesson that learning is fun.
Thank you for my first camera, and for my first tape recorder. These two sparks lit bonfires of passion that still burn hot today. Thank you.
Thank you for a lifetime of memories - memories of the sandbars of Cape Cod, of that magnificent attic room you built for me after Karen was born, of camping on the island in Lake Warren, of the ice races in the Berkshires, of horseback riding in Woodstock VT, of shooting a rifle at bottles in the gravel pit, of inviting my first girlfriend to join us for the day at Lake Sunapee. Thank you for teaching me that life is to be lived. It gave me the courage to do & try new things, like hiking & orienteering, like scuba diving, like urban exploration. You showed me how to shape my own life.
Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much.
You know, I could never bring myself to say it when you were alive, not even when you were dying, but -
I love you.
-Roy
Twenty-nine years since you died! Hardly seems possible that I've lived well over a third of my life since that awful weekend. I still dream about you on occasion, though you've gotten a bit indistinct around the edges. And I always think of you whenever I hear Dixieland, or pass an antique auto on the road. I always smile and say to myself, "I bet Dad could name every member of the band!", or "I bet Dad could tell me the make, model, year, and how many were made!"
Mom's still hanging in there, but ever since selling the cottage in Nova Scotia, she's showed signs of entering her own landing approach. She isn't so active any more. Her health and memory are starting to fail and she gets confused and disoriented easily. Karen, Brian, and I have covered for her, but her doctor recommended assisted living. Boy, did she ever fight us over that. It took a lot of cajoling (and a little bullying) to get her to agree that the time had come, but she didn’t go gladly. And bulldozing out her apartment was a nightmare – we had no idea how bad her hoarding had gotten. But she's fallen in love with her new digs (still kvetches about missing her precious “stuff”), and she’s upbeat and doesn't seem particularly frightened or bothered by what inevitably must follow.
Well, as of this summer I’ll have officially outlived you by 5 years - 90 days past my 67th birthday. Sixty-seven! How did that ever happen? Last I remember I was 35.
But what I really wanted to tell you was: Thank You. Thank you for making me what I am. Thank you for everything you showed me, everything you taught me. I don't know if I would have made it otherwise. I wouldn't be Me.
You taught me fiscal discipline - remember that "Things of Science" club you let me join? You said sure, provided I assume responsibility for the monthly payments. Not many 14 year olds have their own checking accounts. It taught me frugality, it taught me to pay as you go. And that helped me survive my divorce. I managed to pay off my mortgage 7 years ahead of schedule, and amass a healthy retirement portfolio even while meeting my support obligations. And I have no significant credit-card debt. So - thank you.
You shared with me your love of nature. Remember the snakes & turtles you'd bring home to show me? I do. I remember the wood turtles lumbering across our screened porch, the milk snakes curling around my wrist, the enormous toads that always seemed to pee in my hand. These things, and the woods and fields they live in have become my church. Thank you.
Thank you for turning me on to Bob & Ray, to Garrison Keillor, to jazz.
Thank you for teaching me to read. Thank you for teaching me algebra. Thank you for teaching me German (however rudimentary!) And thank you for the meta-lesson that learning is fun.
Thank you for my first camera, and for my first tape recorder. These two sparks lit bonfires of passion that still burn hot today. Thank you.
Thank you for a lifetime of memories - memories of the sandbars of Cape Cod, of that magnificent attic room you built for me after Karen was born, of camping on the island in Lake Warren, of the ice races in the Berkshires, of horseback riding in Woodstock VT, of shooting a rifle at bottles in the gravel pit, of inviting my first girlfriend to join us for the day at Lake Sunapee. Thank you for teaching me that life is to be lived. It gave me the courage to do & try new things, like hiking & orienteering, like scuba diving, like urban exploration. You showed me how to shape my own life.
Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much.
You know, I could never bring myself to say it when you were alive, not even when you were dying, but -
I love you.
-Roy