My Dad

I apologize for being so absent here and on social media. As those of you who follow this blog on Facebook know, last week my father came home on hospice. My husband and I spent six days taking caring of him, which was our great privilege. On Thursday, he passed away.

He did it on his own terms. He wanted to be at home, in his recliner, and he hoped he'd pass in his sleep. All of that came true. Best of all, he accepted Christ as his Savior before passing.

Dad started life as a poor share cropper's son, living in Missouri. In fact, one of his great passions began when he was plowing the field with shoes so worn out, they were full of holes. Something sharp poked his foot, so he stopped plowing and discovered an arrowhead in his shoe. From then until his last year, he gathered a huge collection of Native American artifacts. We still have that original arrowhead.

He was smart as a whip, too. He went to a one-room schoolhouse, but skipped several grades. College was unaffordable and since he knew he'd be drafted, he joined the Army Reserves. Here, he seized the opportunity to get more schooling, choosing to become a surveyor. After the Army, he went into carpentry, and took night classes so he'd understand the stuff the boss knew, like how to read blueprints.

A job offer lured him away from Missouri all the way to California. The ocean didn't impress him, but he could live cheap near the beach. However, the company that had hired him was going bankrupt and couldn't finish a certain big job they were contracted for. The large construction company that had hired them allowed them to bow out, "but you'll need to give us your foreman," they said. That was Dad. This lead to a decades-long career for that big construction company where he became the guy in charge of building shopping centers, hospitals, and a marine life center. When he finally retired, he was so beloved, the company said they'd send him on a trip anywhere he wanted to go.

Probably to their surprise, he told them he wanted a fishing trip in Russia. Off he went, along with a translator, bear hunter (just in case), cook, guide, and a Soviet-era helicopter to bring them in and out of the wilderness. He continued to travel to most of the national parks, Alaska, and Belize, despite the fact that he'd been diagnosed with leukemia and was given 7 to 8 years to live.

Over 20 years later, he was still going strong. Until the past two years. It was getting harder to control his leukemia, and he was suffering other illnesses, including a persistent, debilitating cough that made life difficult. And when all his sisters died, leaving him the only living sibling, he just felt ready to go.

Over and over and over again, his friends and acquaintances tell me how much they loved him, how he'd drop everything to help others, and how his quirky sense of humor had them rolling with laughter. (One couple told me their little girls - now grown - cherished the napkin fights he always started after dinner. They took to calling him "Uncle Too-Bad" because he liked to jokingly tell people "well, that's just too bad!")

Before he died, Dad told me he'd had a good life and felt at peace about passing to the next life.



I'm not sure when I'll be back to blogging, but it will happen eventually. While I'm gone, remember to tell everyone you love them, and to learn as much about your loved ones lives as you can. Someday, you will cherish those memories.