Happy 86th Birthday, Dad, another one you missed. And how I miss you in this world.
Actually the last one you had was your 75th. And we all knew it was the last. Because of that, I was there to watch him eat cake in a hospital Florida. The cancer came quickly; as unexpected news in March and taking him away in August.
Here I am on Dad’s birthday in England, thinking about him, and how he read everything I wrote here. I found folders in his home where he had printed out every web page from my past trips, even back to my (pre-blog) travels in 2000. Dad did not ask a lot of questions, he did not comment on my blog, but I knew he read it intently. He was there, and in his own, introspective way of communication (usually the most personal ones I got were hand written letters), I knew without explicit words how much pride he had in me. People can tell you a lot without saying it.
There would certainly have been a printed out folder of posts he read from this trip in 2014. That’s okay Dad, I’ll save you the paper on this one.
75 sure seems like way too early an age to exit. At 67 he managed, in mid May, to hike to the top of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix for my wedding. In that perfect hindsight I see how oblivious I was to the possibility both my parents would be gone by now. It was not even on the possibility plane.
But heck yeah, Dad, I am still blogging away. I see now it is my equivalent of your letters- writing to communicate feelings, writing to possibly be heard, but maybe just writing to be writing it out for me.
It’s not so puzzling to see what my parents can still teach me.