Dad

A few weeks ago, you died. While it was unexpected, your health over the past few years during the Covid era has not been good. During that time, you struggled getting your breath. Your activity level plummeted. You had to stop driving. Your balance became worse. Lots of changes for you in that time period. You would call, or I’d call you, and you’d tell me what you had been up to. You and his 80-something-year-old neighbor would have “a shot” on your birthdays. You’d tell me about the deal you got on his AC unit or a debt you paid off or about your 40-something-year-old mower that you got running again or how many starters you put on my Carol’s (my stepmom’s) old car (seven maybe?).

We were estranged for a number of years, so reconnecting with you was such a huge blessing. I’m sorry I was so stubborn. Unfortunately, I think that’s something we share as well. That and the difficulty in apologizing. We’ve been able to spend some time together since we’ve been in Knoxville, though. When we went in to visit, we’d get to see you. It was strange seeing you, who was like a superhero to me growing up, the strongest, can-do-anythingest man I knew, shrivel up and have to cinch up your pants or wear overalls because of your drastic weight loss. All of your siblings really struggled and suffered with dementia-related illnesses. Although you might retell some stories, I’m really grateful it never got to levels in you that I’ve seen in others.

While my kids weren’t close to you, they certainly share qualities with you They’re inquisitive. They’re tenacious in figuring out things. One is an avid reader and seeks books when he wants to know something. They share an appreciation for history. I see elements of you in them, which is pretty cool. Growing up, I heard how I looked like you. Me being me, that could have been my open door to growing out my hair (which is laughable now since I have very little, which we also shared). But, looking at a post-haircut picture when I had all of the length cut, there you are, almost identical! During your funeral service, I had relatives say, “I knew it was you,” meaning even though they hadn’t seen me in years (maybe even 40 plus), they knew I was your kid because of my resemblance to you.

You were the kind of guy who really did built your legacy. I remember you getting that puke green Toyota truck and hauling it home to your shop where you fixed it. Just like that, you brought that truck to life and got 300k out of it. When that one died, you bought another some years later and got another 300k out of that one, too. I remember you having cars lining the driveway for you to fix, and you did. I loved going with you to the parts stores and playing in the back of them. The guys would give me cool nicknames like “Sport” or “Supersport.” On our country backroads, you’d let me sit in your lap and stir the truck. I even remember us breaking down and getting a ride back home. As a little kid, it seemed like we were forever far away. Growing up, we weren’t.

I watched you build our old house. I watched you build your house. I saw you make just about anything imaginable. You took that old goat cart that was in shambles and rebuilt it into something beautiful. I once asked you if you had plans when you did things, and you said you didn’t. You just did it. You made a cabin and then added to it so Carol had her a space, too. You and Carol filled them with antiques and pieces of history, much like your house. I was always curious when you got something new to add to the wall—where would you put it!? I’ve seen you move huge sandstones by yourself. I remember you hunting, fishing together in the boat, and riding your BMW motorcycle.

You could wire anything, plumb anything, fix anything, or do just about anything a person can do. You would often say, “If I don’t know how, I’ve got two brothers who do.” Between the three, you really could do anything. You could repair small engines, too. If something was broken, you could probably fabricate a fix. You did mechanic work and machining before working long enough at Caterpillar to retire with benefits. You made all kinds of wood crafts as well. You were the valedictorian of your class although I think you skipped the speech. You liked what you liked, and when you didn’t like it anymore, you moved on. You tested out combat in the Army and into postal work. You made it home in time for my grandmother to pass away. Not many years later, I was born. While you and mom did not always get along, I appreciate the fact you both tried twice only to have it not work again. I’m grateful you met Carol and got to share 27 plus years together.

I learned a lot from you, Dad. Your work ethic was unbelievable. You were loyal to your friends and missed every one of them when they passed on before you. In your latter days, you definitely were a kinder, gentler man. I’m so proud to be your son. I appreciate all that you were to me, that you gave to me, and the changes you made. Even when we were estranged, believe it or not, I tried to honor you. I tell you, though, I’m really grateful we reconnected. I’m glad I saw your softer side. I appreciate all that you gave to your grandkids and Carol. My take on death is usually pretty eternally grounded. You would have appreciated all those that showed up and your military service. Warner did a great job, too. I celebrate the life of my loved ones. I tell you, though, Dad; this one hits different. I find myself wanting to call you and hear your old stories or what you’ve been up to. I’ve put this post off until several weeks later. I’m sure I’m leaving out a lot of things. Mostly, I want to say I love you, and I’ll miss you. I’ll definitely look for you in myself and in my sons. When I see the flag flying, I’ll think about you. I’ll look at mechanic work and woodwork a bit differently, too, or basically anything else you’d be good at, which is a lot. I’m so grateful to be obedient to the gentle nudges of God to fill my car up that Thursday, to drive to Mississippi, and to see you before you left.

Thanks, Dad, for everything. See you later.

I love you.

J