Sooner or later
I was going to have to do this.
I went out to dad’s gravesite today, cleaned the stone, chased away a few spiders, discouraged some lichens.
I have been in my life, fortunate enough to have known a handful of truly great men, men whose lives and accomplishments were admirable beyond belief.
I feel I have walked in the company of saints.
My father was one of those.
Everyone who knew him felt the same, to a man.
I was lucky enough to have gotten to know him, and even get past being an asshole kid and treat him as a friend, before he died, long before his time, at age 57.
Today I stood at his grave and longed for him, wished he was here to answer my questions, to mentor me as only he could, to be Dad. I wished he could feel my daughter’s tender cheek against his stubbly face. I wished my daughter could know him, be with him, walk hand in hand with him.
I bear a horrible and awesome burden, the burden of raising a child. Most times I have no idea what I’m doing. Dad was incredibly wise in that respect.
I hope I can be to my daughter a small portion of what he was to me. I pray that he acts as her guardian angel.
I miss dad. I miss him so damned much it tears me up inside. It’s tearing me up to type this now.
I guess I’m lucky that he wasn’t a bastard, someone I didn’t care less about, but he was an incredible man, and if I’m ever a tenth the man he was I’ll be a giant.
If you love your dad, if he means anything to you, I hope you were good to him on this day. All i can do, is clean dad’s headstone, and try to raise my daughter as best I can.
Og,
Buck up, pal. You’re awfully hard on yourself sometimes; and I’m not sure we can always judge how well we measure up to our own standards. I’ll bet your dad had his own doubts, especially when you went through your wilder years. But for your sake, he never wavered, and I know you learned that from him.
I went to see my Dad’s headstone today for the first time, so I know how rough the day was for you. Hug the Og-wife and the Og-daughter, and remember what Arsenio Hall’s grandmother told him: “You bring me my flowers while I’m alive, darn it!” We must respect those we have lost, but we must appreciate the people in our lives.
Some day, when we’re both a little stronger, we need to trade dad stories.
Thank you for sharing this lovely tribute to your father. He was a lucky man to have you as a son and friend.