Letter to Home

[sasha]

Dear Dad,

Twenty-nine years since you died! Hardly seems possible that I've lived well over a third of my life since that awful weekend. I still dream about you on occasion, though you've gotten a bit indistinct around the edges. And I always think of you whenever I hear Dixieland, or pass an antique auto on the road. I always smile and say to myself, "I bet Dad could name every member of the band!", or "I bet Dad could tell me the make, model, year, and how many were made!"

Mom's still hanging in there, but ever since selling the cottage in Nova Scotia, she's showed signs of entering her own landing approach. She isn't so active any more. Her health and memory are starting to fail and she gets confused and disoriented easily. Karen, Brian, and I have covered for her, but her doctor recommended assisted living. Boy, did she ever fight us over that. It took a lot of cajoling (and a little bullying) to get her to agree that the time had come, but she didn’t go gladly. And bulldozing out her apartment was a nightmare – we had no idea how bad her hoarding had gotten. But she's fallen in love with her new digs (still kvetches about missing her precious “stuff”), and she’s upbeat and doesn't seem particularly frightened or bothered by what inevitably must follow.

Well, as of this summer I’ll have officially outlived you by 5 years - 90 days past my 67th birthday. Sixty-seven! How did that ever happen? Last I remember I was 35.

But what I really wanted to tell you was: Thank You. Thank you for making me what I am. Thank you for everything you showed me, everything you taught me. I don't know if I would have made it otherwise. I wouldn't be Me.

You taught me fiscal discipline - remember that "Things of Science" club you let me join? You said sure, provided I assume responsibility for the monthly payments. Not many 14 year olds have their own checking accounts. It taught me frugality, it taught me to pay as you go. And that helped me survive my divorce. I managed to pay off my mortgage 7 years ahead of schedule, and amass a healthy retirement portfolio even while meeting my support obligations. And I have no significant credit-card debt. So - thank you.

You shared with me your love of nature. Remember the snakes & turtles you'd bring home to show me? I do. I remember the wood turtles lumbering across our screened porch, the milk snakes curling around my wrist, the enormous toads that always seemed to pee in my hand. These things, and the woods and fields they live in have become my church. Thank you.

Thank you for turning me on to Bob & Ray, to Garrison Keillor, to jazz.

Thank you for teaching me to read. Thank you for teaching me algebra. Thank you for teaching me German (however rudimentary!) And thank you for the meta-lesson that learning is fun.

Thank you for my first camera, and for my first tape recorder. These two sparks lit bonfires of passion that still burn hot today. Thank you.

Thank you for a lifetime of memories - memories of the sandbars of Cape Cod, of that magnificent attic room you built for me after Karen was born, of camping on the island in Lake Warren, of the ice races in the Berkshires, of horseback riding in Woodstock VT, of shooting a rifle at bottles in the gravel pit, of inviting my first girlfriend to join us for the day at Lake Sunapee. Thank you for teaching me that life is to be lived. It gave me the courage to do & try new things, like hiking & orienteering, like scuba diving, like urban exploration. You showed me how to shape my own life.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much.

You know, I could never bring myself to say it when you were alive, not even when you were dying, but -

I love you.

-Roy

[saw]

I'm glad I went searching this morning...perhaps this endeavor is my new hiking.....there is so much to read here, so much to explore when the time is right

I'm so glad I found this gem....a beautiful letter home........and it's never really too late ....the important part is expressing your sentiments in your own words and releasing them as such into the universe.......even if no one comments. it's the act of the composition.....your work is done here

it was rare in my generation for dad's to say I love you....mine never did.....and just as rare for us to express the same

my dad would rather build you a piece of furniture....and I would rather talk about the Baltimore Orioles

[sasha]

Wow, I'd forgotten I'd ever posted this - seeing it here was like discovering an old piece of pottery at an archaeological dig!

Dad tried on a few (VERY few) occasions to connect with us kids - but we were typical teenagers: "Eeew, Dad's getting icky..." But I also remember him consoling me the night that the girlfriend mentioned in the letter went her separate way - and some years later even asking my advice on how to deal with Mom as she went through The Change.

As adults, each of us had a conversational groove we'd slip into with him. My younger brother is (was) an engineer, and as Practical Men they found common ground discussing nuts & bolts. I'm hopelessly inept with all things mechanical - but Dad had taught me rudimentary engineering mathematics when I was a boy, and that set me so afire that I'd long since surpassed him in that area. But we found that we could talk Money. Personal finance, investment, debt avoidance - that sort of thing. Our sister (the middle child) tended to clash with him - not that she ran wild, but her personality was (still is!) too like Dad's. She eventually moved to the Canadian border, so didn't visit as often as my brother & I - but her visits were peaceful enough when she did. In fact, she co-stars in a memorable Easter evening I've written about & posted online - but I don't remember when or where. Maybe time to resurrect the story......

...As you've resurrected this one - thanks for taking note!