The best way to celebrate and honor a life is to share the remember-whens. They are the only real thing we have when someone moves on.
Isn’t it funny how our senses trigger these memories? To this day, each time I smell worm-dirt I am yanked back in time to a place that was simpler. A land where dad taught me how to bait a hook, reel in a 2 lb fish like a pro and convinced me that it was a monster. It didn’t matter that he let it go. I just loved to see that gleam he got in his eye when a fish was on the line.
The taste of fresh vegetables still reminds me of the countless hours in dad’s garden picking rocks and pulling weeds. I always felt special when he let me place the seeds in springtime. The man had a passion for getting his hands in the ground and making it bow to his green thumb. These last few years I had the pleasure of talking to him in great depth about the ways of the garden. My tomato plants are eternally grateful.
The sound of a tractor motor will forever remind me of dad hauling us kids and all the neighborhood kids up and down the road for hours on end in the pull cart just because it was fun. That was long before video games and computers.
I only ever remember seeing my dad cry one time. He kept his emotions close and serious words reserved so that when they were spoken, they actually meant something. He was one of the hardest working people I have ever known. He was also one of the kindest. If you needed something, he helped…not for what he could gain, but because it was the right thing to do. I have heard and believe it to be true that you can tell the goodness of a man by how he treats his momma. My dad loved his momma.
I like to think there are Harley’s in heaven and dad has ethereal wind blowing in a newly full head of Fabio hair as he thrashes the twisties of gold. His bike never runs out of fuel and pit stops are optional.
I’ll miss you, dad.