esrosedotblog

PASSING

My Dad died today. 1988. Twenty five years ago.

It doesn't seem that long at all.

He is a daily presence for me.

Many experiences that I have touch off a memory of one kind or another.

More and more I find myself doing things his way or believing certain things that he believed. Fervently. He was a strong believer.

He had a level of certainty about right and wrong that he was willing to share directly. He was not a guy for playing softball.

His opinions covered a wide range of experience. On the outside, he was a life long Democrat with an inherent suspicion of any other affiliation.

He had a strong belief in God but not the one that people keep all tightly wrapped up in their churches. He was not taken in by the devout or the interpreters of God's word. He did go to church in his later years to please my mother but it was clear that was the deal.

He had no patience for the "mealy mouthed". Most usually described as those "mealy mouthed bastards". He liked people who were clear and honest.

He had all the virtues. Most acquired through experience. Lying was unknown. It was also not tolerated.

My kids think, perhaps, that I invented the idea that "life is not fair". That was my Dad talking. He didn't think life was unfair either. It was just life. Fair was something we went to in the fall and looked at the farmer exhibits. Maybe it had to do with some form of honor but I think that he believed those concepts to be bullshit.

He was a self made man. Ass kissing was not in his DNA. While he worked for a large company and did his job as a manager as best he could he would not suck up.

He believed in work for its own sake. A good job done.

He was not taken in by the relatives just because they were of the same blood. He helped me to see that family didn't necessarily coincide with the designated parties but could include people who had no branches whatsoever with the family tree.

My Dad could swear better than any other man that I have ever met and I have had some real virtuoso friends. It wasn't so much the variety of his words but the intensity.

He was a patriot. He went and joined the Navy in 1943 because he had to do his part. He had a deferrable job but he couldn't sit on the sidelines. He saw stuff that stayed with him all his life. Bad dreams kind of stuff. And he was a Sailor. The Marines like to think they are lifelong, a fine tradition. They got it from their naval cousins.

When he met my husband and found that John had been in the Navy, the pictures came out and the stories began.

I fought with him much of my life and, at the end, he told me how pleased he was that I was happy. That I had fought for and gained an identity and purpose he was deeply proud of. And this was with my husband in the next room.

It is highly unlikely that he used those words. But that is what I got. It was all there.

I told you he was clear about his opinions.

Best of all, by the time he was dying, we had learned to really hug one another.

On his last day, I was able to get into the hospital bed with him and hold him tight. I got to tell him that it was OK to go. And that I was so proud and happy that he had been such a wonderful father to me.

I know he heard me.

Labels: fathers